On to more important things.
Michelle talked about mommy guilt this morning and it got me thinking. So much so that I abandoned my topic of how my son has an unholy fear of public toilets. I also found the subject rather appropriate since talking with Neal and Tacoma Chickadee about the subject of parenting in general.
Michelle found that she truly didn’t enjoy that time in the middle of the night when her daughter wouldn’t sleep and only wanted to be held. First off, who in their right mind loves that time? I, for one, like my sleep. I am a bitchy cranky woman without it. Maybe that’s because I get so little of it to begin with. But there are other things in parenthood that make us feel guilty.
As parents to adoptive children we walk about on eggshells being afraid to bitch about our children. We spent months and years bitching about wanting our children home that to complain about their behavior seems hypocritical. What right do we have to complain when we are the ones that wanted the children so badly in the first place? Lemme tell you something. It doesn’t matter how the child came into my house, he still drives me nuts. As Dooce puts it; my child suffers from an debilitating illness. In my case it is called two years old.
My child is two. He lacks language skills to express his needs, he has yet to master the art of the potty, if he doesn’t have it he wants it and if he has it he doesn’t want it. Inside, outside, outside, inside. My kid is a whiner. Please don’t tell me, “oh I’ve met your son. He’s an angel.” Yes, he’s a good boy out in public, but behind closed doors he drives me nuts. But for every smack down he lays on me there will be a moment of pure bliss. This little boy who finds the most minuscule little flower in the garden. He picks it and brings it to me and says, “buh-luh-lie.” (translated: butterfly) “buh-luh-lie, hair mama.” He’s saying he’s sorry for being a shit and wants me to put the little blue treasure in my hair. I could eat the cuteness with a spoon!
This brings me to the ultimate in mommy guilt. Sure, I feel guilty for saying no when he wants to be picked up while I’m cooking dinner or saying no when he wants to play puzzle just as I’m sitting down to work. But here’s a guilt story for you.
Last week our weather was spot on. I mean gorgeous. I knew I had to work this week so I spent every second I could outside. Boy and I were playing in the back yard last Tuesday. Ok, I was watering plants and he was spinning the wheel on the wheelbarrow. He goes into my garden shed to do something. I go into the shed to retrieve a tool or something. *sniff sniff* Oh that doesn’t smell pleasant. I know full well my boy has pooped. I am about two minutes from finishing what I was doing and then cleaning up. I admit it. I let him wallow in his own filth for a bit. Gimme a break, it was just a few minutes. I finished what I was doing and tell the boy it is time to go inside. At this point he does what he always does when we are done with outside time. He starts to scream. I am so sick of the screaming. So. Sick. I get pissed. I yell and tell him to stop screaming. Yep, June Cleaver I am not. He screams louder. I tell him, “I know! We are going in to change you! Stop screaming at me!” The screaming continues. This isn’t crying hear people. This is screaming. Pissed off screaming. I lay him down to change him and pull off his shorts. Oh dear lord! There is poo everywhere. Poo so bad that I wiped off what I could and immediately stuck him in the bathtub. The whole time apologizing and saying I understand. That is guilt. But that’s not the end of the story…
The next day we went grocery shopping. I emptied the fridge of all the old leftovers and spoiled stuff. I was dumping chocolate milk down the drain that had a pull date of the same day. As I’m dumping the milk down the sink… *sniff sniff* I sniffed the carton. Hmmm… that doesn’t smell good. This was the same milk I had fed my child at lunch the previous day. The day of the poo incident. I gave my child soured or nearly soured milk and got pissed at him because he was screaming at me. Now that is mommy guilt.
Does it make me a bad parent.
A little Not so much. It makes me a dumb parent. I can guarantee you I am hypersensitve to pull dates now.