Meditate, Mop the Floor, or Cry?

I just don't understand it. Why is parenting so hellish while your kids are little, and then when they're suddenly grown you're plunged into sadness, loss, and regret?

I adore my children. Of course this goes without saying. They are the most beautiful, adorable, vivacious, happy, energetic, smart, brilliant, funny people ever created. But MY GOD do they drive me nuts.

And oh! How I suffer! The baby won't go to sleep. It's an hour plus of a struggle three times a day. The 5 year old keeps attacking the baby, keeps mouthing off to her mother, and has an insatiable appetite for constant activity, and is an ungrateful little thing when she has 5 minutes of her day that isn't planned.

So I suffer. And I don't sleep. And I whine. And I yell. And I discipline. And I take 100,000 deep breaths a day. And I count the days until kindergarten. And then stress about how on EARTH I'm gonna give the baby her afternoon nap when I have to pick up her big sister from school DURING nap time EVERY DAY. And I am brought to tears.

But then I stop. And I look at them. And am bowled over by their beauty. Their intelligence. Their spirit. The sheer fact of their existence. And I am brought to tears. Again.

So my question is: Why does it have to be like this? Why are babies and children so challenging to care for, and then all of a sudden they become independent and you would give anything to be asked to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich just one more time? Why the extremes? Couldn't I suffer less when they are little, enjoy them more, and then happily send them on their way with a tear, a sniff and a smile? This is either:

a) Mother Nature's way of perpetuating evolution by making parents very anxious to kick their children out of the nest,
b) The Universe punishing me for not having children in my 20s,
c) Just the way it is, so Deal With It, or
d) A wake up call for me to get it together and learn patience and acceptance so I'm not so pissed off all the time.

Because it's just not fun to be pissed off all the time. It really isn't. I don't know if you've ever tried it, but it's not something I'd recommend. And pre-children I considered myself to be a relatively cheerful, positive person. I'm grumpy when I wake up, grumpy when I'm making breakfast for all these people I've begotten, grumpy when I'm slathering sunscreen on the 5 year old at 8:59 when camp begins at 9, and she's not participating because she HAS TO put a ponytail in her Barbie's hair RIGHT NOW. And on. And on. It's just not an enjoyable way to spend one's day. So then I think, oh, I should meditate, do more Yoga, read "The Power Of Now" again, or at the very least read the damn Dalai Lama's Facebook updates (which I tend to skim over because I'm always in a hurry.) But this just makes me feel guilty. So that doesn't help. I try to take care of myself. When the baby finally falls asleep I always choose between napping, exercising, or cleaning something. I try to maintain a balance. But I'm still on this roller coaster I can't get off of. Or more accurately, parenting to me feels like I've got my finger stuck in an electric socket, and I just can't get it out, no matter how hard I try.

So I've got no answers. Great kids. Great husband. Kids drive me nuts. Husband doesn't (lucked out there). Grumpy a lot. Look forward to my evening glass of wine a little too enthusiastically. Try to take care of myself with exercise and time to myself at least for a few hours on a weekend. I love these little people so much it hurts. I pine for the day when they don't take so much from me. And I desperately don't want that day to come.