By Kristin Baldwin Homsi 
Can good moms have bad days?
Today I’m angry. I’m angry that we have three kids under three. I’m angry that’s it is always so hard.
My husband and I suffered two miscarriages before being blessed with our daughter. I mourned the loss of those two little souls to such a degree that my daughter’s middle name is Trinity, our way of forever binding her to the two that should have come before.
When she was only 4-months-old, we inadvertently got pregnant with identical twins.
A part of me felt that God gifted us the twins as a way of making our trinity whole.
A family complete.
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But then life spiraled out of control.
Now with a 2.5-year-old, twin 18-month-olds, my career that demands 50 hours a week and my husband’s career which requires significant traveling plus equivalent hours, every day is a fight to stay sane.
I am eternally grateful for my children, my love for them is a depth I never knew existed and there is no pain I wouldn’t gladly feel for them, but at this moment my predominant feeling is anger.
I feel angry that I arose at 6 a.m. on Saturday to sneak in an hour of work before the kids open their eyes. I’m mad that between working late into the evenings after we’ve put the kids to bed and waking up at every cry, once again another week will pass where I am further sleep-deprived.
I’m angry that I devote more hours to my career, including nights and weekends than most of my peers, but I’m viewed as the mother of three that leaves at 5 pm to pick her children up from daycare.
I’m angry that everything is “Mommy do it” from diaper changes to filling sippy cups.
I’m angry that I am the CEO of our household, but a full-time employee to my children and my career.
I’m angry that my husband and I are perpetually playing man-down, which equates to two laps and three fussy toddlers, forcing us to choose one child over another repeatedly.
I’m angry that when we manage to journey into the world as a family, strangers flock to interact with the twins, while our daughter is suddenly invisible.
I’m angry that every month a little more weight seems to settle around my waist as self-care becomes a distant memory.
I’m angry that despite these endless days, the physical pain of toting around three toddlers, the cleaning, the laundry, the diaper changes, the late nights, the long hours, the constant worrying—despite it all—I feel like I’m not doing enough for my career or my family.
As such, at this moment, for these briefs seconds, perhaps for today . . . can I feel angry?
Tomorrow I will remember my blessings.
Tomorrow I will smell my babies’ hair and nuzzle in their necks and the guilt of today’s anger will wear heavy on my shoulders.
Tomorrow if I’ve managed to sleep, I’ll find the strength to keep moving.
Maybe tomorrow the twins won’t cry all day, and my daughter won’t refuse to nap. Maybe.
Maybe cold and flu season will finally fade, and perhaps my deadlines at work will get extended.
But today, will the world give me the grace to cry on the toilet while my 2-year-old tries to rip the toilet paper off the wall? Can I hide my son’s favorite toy train when he hits himself in the head with it for the eighth time?
Can the world, for one minute or day, not judge this mama for acting ungrateful? I’m judging myself enough.
Tomorrow I will pull myself up. I will be the light and smiles my family needs. I will remember that a mother is unbreakable as we are powered by the invincible nature of our love.
Tomorrow I will fight and I will thrive because I would walk through Hell for my family.
But today—today I just want to be mad.
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