Mama a la crapola

7 Jan

There are moments every day when I see my little z-baby do something absolutely amazing — take a tiny step, shoot me a big grin, or fill his diaper — and I feel like I’m on a total mom high. In those moments I feel like I could conquer the world.

Then there are moments when I can’t seem to get anything right in the motherhood department — I can’t understand what it is he needs or wants, can’t console him when the teething gets rough, can’t seem to stay awake even. It’s in those moments that I feel like a finalist for the world’s crappiest mom.

I’m sure that all moms have these crapola moments — but are the lows usually this crappy feeling?

Let’s take the lead up to New Years, for example. We ran some errands together, he was happy in the car, and we had a good time. We went to the grocery during the middle of a weekday (I simultaneously felt like such a delinquent and totally at peace), and baked a giant cookie for the big family dinner. He was content playing at my feet as I packed our bags for our traditional sleep over at the in-law’s, when he fell down the stairs. We’ve been looking for a gate that fits our upstairs’ hall (we have like 4 that haven’t worked), so in the meantime we just have a rule that we shut all doors upstairs when we’re in a room and the baby isn’t allowed to crawl in the hall. But this super-mom didn’t push the door all the way to and either the baby or the dog opened it and little z-baby bee-lined for the stairs. Now, these are some really steep stairs. I don’t know how the hell he survived. I’m not just exaggerating because I had already been obsessing about the baby getting hurt by falling from a balcony. By the time I got to the stairs he was about a quarter of the way down and I couldn’t catch him. I screamed his name twice, and the pitch of those screams still ring in my ears. We rushed to the children’s hospital and he thankfully had no injuries because of the way he rolled down the stairs. Not a bump. Not a bruise. We’ll see in a few years how bad it messed him up psychologically… And I will never get that image out of my head. Not ever. Even the dog was disturbed — she was so upset she had the runs and raunchy gas the rest of the night. My poor babies.

Everyone says this was an accident, but I will never forgive myself for not being more vigilant. Now, it’s not every day that something this extreme happens, but sometimes I feel just about as bad for other not-so-egregious failures as a mother. But maybe I’m not crazy, after all. I mean, this is a person we’re talking about. A little, helpless, dependent-on-ME person. So how do you find the middle of the road and deal with the constant and extreme ups and downs? Or is that just what parenting is about? If so (and I’m guessing it is…) parenting sucks ass! How will I ever kick this depression and get off these meds like this? I mean, really???


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