I mostly spend each day living in brief gulps from one moment to the next. In between tickle fights and time outs, I also sweat it out each day on the tightrope that is PPD and all its repercussions in my family, my health, my marriage and my sense of humor. Some days are good, some days only wish they could aspire to the high ranks of pond scum, but it's all part of my life. And it's all worth it.
Should
Perfect parenting propaganda. Fighting those myths of the Uber-Mom is the whole backbone of this company, these women and their stories. And I’m one of them, right? I’m strong and independent and forgiving of my “failings” as a mom, simply because I accept that there no such thing as “perfect” when your day starts at sunrise (or earlier), you haven’t slept, there’s no milk and someone’s already in time-out before the clock strikes 7 A.M.
We all have bad days, moments of incoherency that, while in the heat of it seemed potentially rational, after the fact feel so bad. SO BAD. These are the points where I get stuck and have a really hard time pulling myself out of the Perfect Mommy tar pit.
I am not evolved and zen. Self-confidence? Not always so much at the top of my skill set. As much as I hate to give in to it, the “should’s” of the Better Mommy just hover so closely around me sometimes that I can’t breathe or see my way through.
Yesterday, after spending hours, literally HOURS, out of my day running Silvia back and forth to the bathroom in the endlessly entertaining game of “I say pee and Mommy jumps!”, I just cracked. Standing in the kitchen trying to make a snack for everyone, I completely ignored Silvia when she came crying up, 1 minute after having jumped off the seat, screaming, “poopypoopyPOOPY!”. I didn’t even look at her, instead turning my focus to ravaging the graham crackers with a vicious spread of peanut butter.
And then she started crying and I, finally, gave her a moment of my attention. She had pooped on the floor. She was devastated. And I had ignored her when she asked me for help.
I should have listened. I should have swallowed my own frustration and helped her through this phase of learning and control. I shouldn’t have allowed a situation where she will now associate negative emotions with using the bathroom.
Should. Because somewhere someone said something about it. Someone wrote a book or did an interview or delivered a scathing look upon a stranger at the mall that clearly outlines how NOT to act as a parent in this specific situation or one very much like it.
It goes the other way, too, of course. I shouldn’t get so upset, these things happen, she’s not scarred for life. I should remember my commitment to fighting all the trappings of Perfect Parenting and just allow myself to be the best mom I can in a real world with real people and real tempers and limits.
It’s just so frustrating and heart-breaking to live up to any of these standards, either the ultimately down-to-earth mom or the ultimately patient, selfless and letter-perfect mom. I’m not either.
Finding that middle ground wears me out, almost as much as trying not to cry from anger AND guilt while I scrubbed the floor, my child and my own hands to clean up the mess she (and I) had made. I want to let it go and chalk all these little moments up to the reality of family life. I survived it as a child, generations have survived it before me and generations will after me. Life is messy and there is no plan, no matter how hard you work to follow one.
I should learn to step back and take an objective view. I shouldn’t be so insecure.
I’m sure there’s a well-researched book somewhere that says exactly that.
you go, girl! YOU are writing the book, and others learn to feel better about themselves from your experiences. aside from which, you are a better mother than i EVER was.
Comment by grandmem — October 2, 2009 @ 1:09 pmMy grandma, who I refer to as the first original Al-Anon junkie, used to say, “Don’t Should on yourself.” I, too, am imprisoned by the shoulds, and they serve to drain me of the necessary energy it takes to even have the courage to show up every day. One night, while out for coffee with a seasoned mom, I wept at my utter failure as a mother. She verbally slapped me and said, “Do you show up every day?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.
“Do you get out of bed, feed the kids, do your best, even if your best looks really crappy, and just SHOW UP?”
“Yes,” I tearfully admitted.
“Then that’s enough,” she said.
So guilt follows us around like bad body odor. And the messaging is so damaging to our already fragile mommy psyches, already belittled and pummeled by media-driven images of perfection and uber-competence.
Sometimes my only hope is to say, “At least I didn’t ignore her the first 4000 times.” Of course, then I get all pissed and resentful that I get nailed (only in my own mind) for the 4001st time when I did lose my shit. Good news, you’re not the only one. Bad news, it’s still hard, never simple, and a vacation is really nowhere in sight. I think, along with universal health care, Obama needs to figure out how to give every mother a “mommy vacation.” It would include no one needing anything (food, clean clothes, sex, household management), a vast pile of trashy novels, a dvd player, a full bar, and gourmet food that doesn’t include Kraft mac and cheese. Ommmmm…..let’s just all meditate on that for awhile.
Comment by Heather — October 13, 2009 @ 11:59 amWhat is it about motherhood that brings out the guilt in all of us? Megan-it sure is nice to know that I’m not the only one. And, Heather-thanks for your comment; I needed that.
Comment by Jen — October 13, 2009 @ 5:56 pm