Confession: Maybe I’m Not Cut Out For This

I used to be very maternal. Everyone said so.

I used to adore kids. Everyone saw.

I used to want eight of my own. I told everyone.

Now, well now I’m not so sure I was meant to be a mother. Nobody knows.

I remember perfectly when my son was born. I can tell you my birth story in detail, which I’m sure I will sometime. But I cannot tell you that amazing connection mothers feel the moment they hold their children. I can’t tell you about that because I didn’t feel it.

I just wanted to go to sleep. I looked over at my darling boy, said he looked like his father, and passed out.

When the nurses brought him to my room so I could take care of him, I kept asking them to take him away. I wasn’t ready. I needed more sleep, more time.

Slowly that connection, that amazement, came. My son was in the hospital for two weeks after he was born. When I sat with him in the nursery I would hold him and stare at him for hours. No one else wanted to come visit because it was boring for them to watch me stare. He was perfect, couldn’t they see?

newborn sleeping

I got lucky. I had an easy baby. I loved being a mom. I loved watching him explore the world around him and take everything in; I loved being there for major moments; I loved how he would curl his body into mine for comfort. I had never known a love so strong. I was obviously meant for this.

But now, now things are different. And I haven’t yet told anyone.

Now I get bored watching him sleep. I get excited for the milestones, but only because finally the hard work of getting there is over. I get uncomfortable when we cuddle and crave a cigarette more than his warmth. I get so irritated when he always comes to me for comfort — why can’t he go to Jack?

I feel like a failure. I feel like I don’t belong. I feel like, maybe, someone made a mistake. Maybe this isn’t what I was supposed to do. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.

Maybe I’m not cut out for the sleepless nights and the tantrums. Maybe I’m not cut out for being late to every single thing I ever try to do. Maybe I’m not cut out for struggling to get shoes on for half an hour, or meticulously teaching every letter a thousand times, or wiping the same butt for the millionth.

I feel like I’m suffocating. Truth be told, I still have it easy. My son is a good kid, an easy kid. So why is this so damn difficult?

I wake up and he’s there. I go to the bathroom and he’s there. I smoke a cigarette and he’s there. I try to eat a piece of chocolate and he takes it. I go to sleep and he steals my spot. Every moment of my life is centered around this fabulous being.

Don’t get me wrong, I know he’s amazing. I adore him. And I make sure he has all that he needs. But I do not feel like a good mother. I feel like I’m failing him. I feel like I don’t love him enough, even though I know that I do.

I feel like this should be easier. I feel like I’m waiting for a day that will never come. I feel like I should cherish our moments far more than I do.

I feel like I’m not cut out for this, but I push through because I know I have to be.

I just hope I get that initial spark back. I hope I can love him the way I’m supposed to. I hope this will stop, someday.

And maybe that hope means I am cut out for this, after all.

baby swing

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This post is part of the Confessional Series, written by Tempest Rose. To submit your own, please head over to The Confessional page.

 

(Not) Potty Training a Boy in 21 Easy, Soul-Sucking Steps

There are thousands upon millions of Potty Training Steps articles out there for you to consider when deciding to begin Potty Training your boy. However, none are quite as painful as this one. Enjoy.

1. Buy potty when boy is 18 months old, just to get yourself excited for no real reason.

2. Give potty to boy as Christmas present, because what kid doesn’t want his very own shitter to remind him change and growing up too fast is vastly approaching for Christmas?

3. Convince boy to sit on potty while still in Christmas PJs and do an adorable photoshoot.

4. Try to get boy acclimated to potty. Realize he’s still in a crib, so what’s the use? Put potty aside.

5. Randomly bring out potty over the next year. Sometimes boy sits on it, sometimes not.

6. Crack down when boy is two-and-a-half. Keep potty in view at all times. Buy underwear.

7. When boy still has no interest, let him run around naked all the time. Begin by having him pee outside.

8. Get boy so used to peeing outside that he still won’t go near the potty, but asks you to take him outside whenever he has to go. Take him.

9. Finally get him to use the potty by bribing him with candy and presents.

10. Go to the dollar store to stock up on candy and presents.

11. Keep boy naked all the time. Get him pretty used to using the potty for peeing purposes. No poop, yet.

12. Put boy in underwear. Take him to store. Have no accidents.

13. Get super proud of yourself and tell everyone how your boy is almost potty trained.

14. Have it all backfire when one day, out of the blue, boy stops using the potty and pees all over the couch.

15. Think it was a fluke accident and continue putting him in underwear until he pees himself 10 times and you throw your arms up in defeat.

16. Try to get boy to use the potty only to get punched in the face.

17. Give up and have daycare do it.

18. Have daycare inform you even they can’t get the kid to use the freakin’ potty.

19. Decide to write a how-to list so you can laugh at yourself years later when your kid finally gets this whole Potty Training thing at 16.

20. Make a mental note to tell any future love prospects of boy about this list.

21. Search computer and mother’s Facebook for any and all aforementioned photos, acquire exactly zero of those photos.

What’s Wrong with Kids Today

I live two blocks away from a bunch of fields and sports-areas. Football, cheerleading, track, softball, baseball, soccer, hockey. There’s a designated field or area for each sport. It’s nice and all, in that it’s a kid-friendly neighborhood, but it’s also highly annoying.

A few weeks ago Holden and I decided to walk down and watch a baseball game. Holden loves baseball so I thought it’d be good for him. I was wrong.

The kids playing couldn’t have been older than ten. But balls were flying over the fence like crazy — I was slightly afraid for my child’s life.

One of them accidentally slid right into another one. The sliding one look frazzled and slightly embarrassed as he slowly regained his balance and stood up; the slid-into one turned fucking red and stormed off.

His parents just happened to be standing right in front of me. The mom went off to see if he was okay, and when she returned she proudly announced that her baby boy said “he’s lucky I didn’t fucking hit him!” Then they continued to talk about how awesome their kid was and how horrible the other one was, and how they kind of wanted to hit him themselves. All because the other kid accidentally slid into theirs. Acci-fucking-dentally.

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Forever a Memory of Never Ever

[Throwback Thursday — This was originally published on February 18th, 2013.]

            There are some things you just can’t forget, no matter how hard you try.

The loud noise screeching from my phone,
                                                                   so early,
the world so blinding it couldn’t have been real; but it was. The Charlie Brown-like “wah wah” emanating from this robot,
                                                   so oily,
I’m not sure if I was adding more to it or it to me. The shaking, the earthquake that was my body as I listened to the story, explained
                                                                 so swiftly,
clumsily, but with more vivid detail than I had ever experienced. The panic, the crushing ceiling
          so close;
inches above my head; the horrid pungent waste of my dog sticking to my septum. Had my apartment always been
                                     so small, so vile?
The car ride a blur, however; the same roads, same speed, same signals same signs same noises, as if everything was
                                       so normal.
But during the walk up the wobbly path, I remembered: it wasn’t. It would never be again.
                                                                                                                                         So long.

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Mini-Post Mondays: Rophaldo, The M-Word, Thieves, Frick, Dumb, and Cute.

So it turns out Tidbits & Smidgens (Nonsense & Shenanigans’ biweekly newsletter) didn’t work out. It was just too much for me to worry about. However, now you all get a piece of the action, as I’ve incorporated it into Mini-Post Mondays!

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Rophaldo and Mike

What’s her name again? Is it Samara, too? Because I’ve been ‘meeting’ a lot of people named Samara. No, that’s someone else. Sahara? SAVANNAH. I knew it was one of those.

This is what goes through my head when trying to remember someone’s name. The above actually happened, just now in my head, while conversing with Savannah from When Nothing Goes Write. (She’s awesome, by the way. She says she’s like me only I’m better but I think it’s the other way around.) (I should stop being so mushy about other bloggers. I’m not a creep, I promise think.)

Sadly, more than half the time it doesn’t even go that well. I come up with something like Rophaldo and the person’s name is actually Mike. Just Mike. Not even Micheal.

names

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