Confessions of a Terrible Mother

Tags

anger, breakdowns, five year old, parenting, stress

Dear Owl,

I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I am not the mother you deserve. I’m sorry that I’m not the mother I thought I would be, or that I think I could be, if maybe things were a little different.

I’m sorry that when I’m stressed, I revert to old patterns probably set in my childhood – I talk to you as if you are an adult. I treat you as if you an adult – a belligerent, unreasonable, whiny little adult.

You are not an adult, you are a child. But when I am stressed, I don’t see you that way.

And so, today happened:

MAD

Tags

anger, grief, miscarriage

I don’t handle disappointment well.

Never have. I get mad. I want things undone.

I think Owl gets this from me.

He wants to do everything by himself, and if we thoughtlessly pick him up to hurry him, or don’t put him down immediately when he asks, he freaks out and tries to retrace his steps.

He isn’t satisfied with simply doing the rest by himself; he has has to undo what has already been done. He has to take the socks back OFF, or go back to the bottom of the stairs and start again, or run back to where I was standing when he first asked to get put down. If we don’t let him, he has a meltdown.

Sometimes we let him redo things. Other times we let him melt down. It really depends on whether it was our own thoughtlessness or his stubbornness that resulted in our rushing him to begin with.

Well, I wish I could have a meltdown of my own.

I hate the first trimester, and I’m pissed that I did 10 weeks of it for nothing.

I am PISSED that I have to do it ALL OVER AGAIN if I want to have a baby.

I am PISSED that I have lost TWO MONTHS that I can’t get back.

Even if I conceived a bare two weeks after my D&C – and they recommended we wait a month before trying – we couldn’t possibly have a baby until the end of February. More likely it’ll be March, April, May… a whole frigging year. By then Owl will be three and a half, way bigger than the spacing we were hoping for.

And that makes me MAD.

I am MAD that I lost those months.

I am MAD that the soonest we could possibly have a baby is much later than we wanted.

I am MAD that I can’t go back in time and try again.

I am MAD that I no longer have a maternity leave to look forward to – that I will be working until some time in the nebulous future, as opposed to a set time in December.

I am MAD that I was expecting a baby born in the year of the Snake, but now will be having a child born in the year of the Horse. Not because I actually believe in Chinese horoscopes but because I HATE CHANGES IN PLANS.

I am MAD because I was slightly hoping for an Aquarius baby, because I’m an Aquarius, and was slightly disappointed to be getting a Sagittarius instead and now, thanks to the timing of the miscarriage, I STILL won’t be able to get an Aquarius baby. Not because I believe in astrology but because I WOULD LIKE A BABY FOR MY BIRTHDAY.

I am MAD that I don’t know when I will bring home a sibling for Owl.

I am MAD that I won’t be bringing a newborn home to meet the family as planned at Christmas.

I am MAD that no one will ever wear the little Christmas pyjamas I bought (and a little afraid that someone will because it will take us a whole year to get pregnant again).

I am MAD that the baby will likely be walking and talking before PH’s family gets to see it, because we can only afford to go home every second Christmas or so.

We promised them a newborn for Christmas, and they aren’t getting one.

We promised OURSELVES a newborn for Christmas, and we aren’t getting one.

And there’s nothing I can do to change that.

I can’t retrace my steps and do it over. That’s gone, lost.

And I’m MAD.