You Overestimate Me

Don't call me good and don't tell me I've done a good thing.
I'd rather not hear that I'm doing a fabulous job.
I'll feel like I have to correct your assumptions.
I'm barely holding on here.
It is all I can do to make it though the day, one day at a time.
If I have to try to balance on a pedestal, too, I fear my failures will only be magnified when I fall off.
And I will.
You haven't seen me lose my temper.
And you can't see into the dark recesses of my heart.
You don't know how frustrated I get when I've corrected the same bad behavior for the 37th time of the day.
You can't even comprehend how googlie-eyed I go when it is hold-your-breath or scream-your-brains-out make your choice time.
How I fear that holding-my-breath when I'm enraged might give me an aneurism. 
Feel free to pat me on the back and ask if I'm OK.
Feel free to offer prayers I will never know about.
Feel free to drop by with deserts.
But if you feel like telling me how great I'm doing with my new child.
Please keep your opinions to yourself.
However, if you want to offer to take them off my hands while I go get a massage.....