I spend a lot of time wondering if I should post on my blog about my failures as a parent instead of just about my successes. Sure it’s easy to bitch when things are a little rough on one particular child isn’t sleep but it’s a different thing altogether to admit you screwed up. Admitting I lost my cool, or wasn’t perfect, or did something wrong is so hard.
Why exactly is that? Why is it hard to admit when I fuck up? The answer is because I am secretly afraid. I spend a ton of time pretending I couldn’t give two shits what other people think of me but that is actually a lie. I do care. I care when other parents give me that pitying look because my kid is acting up in a grocery store or throwing a temper tantrum in Target. Admitting the mistakes I make inside my own house is like letting those people into my private failures and I’m so afraid to do that.
The truth is I’m not perfect. In fact I’m fairly certain I fuck up quite often when it comes to my children (most notably the 2 year old). Sometimes I have less patience than I should and I lose my cool and yell. That’s exactly what happened last night. I had a long first day back at work yesterday and I spent most of it consumed with that guilty feeling you get when you leave your 3 month old to return to a job. I came home and the evening was a little rocky, mostly because the toddler is difficult these days. I put both children to bed and while the baby was down for the night the toddler decided to throw everything out of his crib like 4 times and scream for me to come up and fix the situation.
I lost my cool. The third time I yelled at him. I raised my voice just enough to scare him. He cried and said “Mommy scary!” I lost it. I picked him up and just apologized over and over again and cried into his hair. After about 10 minutes we both calmed down and I told him how much I loved him and he went to sleep. Then I sat in the bathroom for half an hour crying. It was one of my lowest moments as a parent to date. I know these things happen and I’m human but despite that I tossed and turned half the night, upset about what I had done.
I’m not really posting this story for sympathy or for people to pat me on the head and tell me it’s going to be ok. I think I’m really posting it to make it a little more acceptable to be honest. To admit when I’m not perfect. To be able to get it off my chest and move on. Come in, sit down, bring me your awfulness, and I will bring you a drink.