My cup is empty ...

Today I confess that my cup is empty. I confess that after a week of being touched, snuggled, and leaned against by my almost 10 year old- I am touched out. My kind and brilliant man child is literally doing nothing wrong but asking for his relationship bank to be filled. He isn’t demanding. He isn’t rude. He is kind and meek. His yearning for my attention is almost palpable. He wants to be loved and take care of me. He wants to snuggle me. He attempts to put his hand on my face and tell me, “You’re pretty momma,”  and “I love you.” He wants to talk to me and tell me about his day. He wants to look at me and share his life experiences and joy. And I have listened. I have smiled and laughed at the good things. I have asked questions and interacted. And yet, I feel like I haven’t absorbed his attention because I have been so overwhelmed. He is absolutely deserving of my attention. Yet, here I am, knowing I haven’t been the mom he needed. I sit feeling like I have more “uh huh,” “ yeah,” and”okay,” answers than I should have.

I know I have interacted. But I haven’t seen him or his needs for all that they truly are.
Yesterday I raised my voice too loudly when he wanted to lean and crawl in my lap as I was attempting to get up. He didn’t know I was getting up. I didn’t know what he needed in the grand scheme of things.

Tonight my sweet ginger girl didn’t get the best version of me. She got the mom who hummed instead of sang. She got the momma who was frustrated and tired. She got the momma that I pray NOT to be.
Tired. Overwhelmed. Sad. Cranky. And checked out.
She didn’t do a single thing wrong. She wasn’t overly fussy. She wasn’t overly needy. She reached for me. She needed me. She wanted to touch my face and kiss my lips. She wanted to snuggle. She wanted to nurse. She wanted to play with my hair and laugh in my face with the sheer contentment of knowing she is safe and loved. In fact - if I pull back from the mental snapshot and see the bigger landscape view of the picture, it’s really amazing and beautiful. But somehow my focus is pulled in too tightly on the shot and alll I can see is overwhelm, tired, and lack of energy.

Tonight I sit on my bed knowing that I was not the mom I want to be.
Tonight I am drowning in feeling like I have failed them both.
I am very aware that I am not, have not, and can not be the mom I typically put effort into being.
My cup is empty.

The problem with an empty cup is that you can’t pour from it. I can not give more of myself to my children when my cup is empty. I can’t shower them with strength and praise when I am broken and aware of all the ways I am tripped up and failing.

Tonight I need held by someone who isn’t 4 foot tall or shorter. I need someone who is content not talking to me, and to share my space. I don’t want to be “mom.” I want to be Angel. I want to be the person that someone else makes laugh and thinks that they enjoy my presence without me needing to do anything. I need my cup filled. I need to looked  and not be valued for the things I can do and the basic needs of food, shelter, and safety to rest exclusively on my shoulders.

I want loud music.
I want laughter.
I want to be more than just mom.

But instead, I sit feeling like a failure...
 not because my children aren’t fed, warm, safe, and cared for, but rather because you can’t pour from an empty cup..

Tonight as I sit and recollect my day, the highlight was the tiny moment I sat with a tiny boy in my lap and read him a Barney book. It was the most calm and most quiet aspect of my whole day. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t planning. I was sitting oblivious to the rest of the world- enjoying the stillness of the moment. Because even in my overwhelm and overstimulated...
love found me.

Tomorrow I will refill my cup because you can’t pour from an empty cup.