I know I’m a good mom. I know I’m a good mom. I know I’m a good mom. I KNOW IM A GOOD MOM. I KNOW I’M A GOOD MOM. I KNOW I’M A GOOD MOM.
I feel like I’m sitting in detention hall writing out these lines on a blackboard as punishment for my bad behavior but more than that, to convince myself I’m worthy of being a mother. I hate this feeling. I hate the guilt that sets in and makes its home in the pit of my stomach, like poisonous bile turning my insides toxic.
It’s not me, its not who I am. It’s not what a stand for. I’m not this kind of mother. While I’m no saint, this is a far cry from the type of mother I want to be.
Let me start from the beginning.
Yesterday I returned to that place I swore I never would, that deep dark whole of black where it’s impossible for you to see clearly or think straight. I basically lost my sh1t and 24 hours later here I sit trying to make sense of what got into me, of what was so hard for me to accept.
We had just arrived at friends house when Noah began to start moaning and complaining. I showed him my concern. I stayed calm. After another few minutes of moaning I held him and asked him if he was feeling sick to which he gave me a rather unconvincing no. The whining continued. After another 20 minutes or so, I began to worry and feel his forehead for signs of fever, but he was cool. My love, are you not feeling well? Tell mommy so I know what to do to help you. I was as calm as a cucumber. At this point I was still breathing properly.
After much begging and pleading he finally admitted to having a sore throat. Truth is, I knew it deep down but with the last few months of sickness and his history with sore throats I was in absolute denial. I mean he was on an antibiotic a month ago! I just didn’t want to face the truth and consider that this was happening again. I’ve been diligent with vitamins and they eat all their fruit and vegetables. I wondered how on earth he could be sick again and how with Brendon leaving for the sates on Saturday, I would cope on my own with a sick child. AGAIN. It’s funny how we always look so far into the future, at the things that are obviously so out of our control instead of dealing with the present.
And then I lost it. I started screaming at him to communicate with me and tell me how he was feeling. You see it appears my son thinks it’s a sign of weakness to be sick. He will be lying in bed sweating with a 40-degree fever or with his head in the toilet and he will literally scream at you that he is NOT sick. It’s adorable and frustrating all at the same time. When you are the one trying to get to the bottom of it, while at the same time denying every possibility of your child being sick, its VERY frustrating when you are not sure what you can do to help. I guess he gets it from me?
I made a call to at least give him meds before we left so that they could start working their magic sooner rather than later. And that’s when things turned pair shape very fast. He kept screaming I don’t want medicine, I don’t want it, I’m better I’m better now (His denial was way stronger than mine at this point) and so I told him we would have to go home for medicine and to help him. Then he started freaking out about the fact that we were leaving the play date and that his cousin could no longer come for supper. My goodness. What a lot of drama. And I DO drama.
My friend had kindly given me some calpol to get something in his system that would take away this pain and discomfort he was experiencing but he just kept refusing to take it. For the record he usually takes his meds very well and is old enough to understand the reason and the outcome! He went mad and bumped the spoon of syrup everywhere. And then I felt my cheeks start to burn. I felt my mind transport to that dark hole where you see no light.
I took him by the arms and shook him to calm down, I forced him back on my lap and force fed him the medicine which I knew was pointless because lets be honest, how much do you actually get in when your kids is thrashing himself around like a psychotic drug patient on his third day withdrawal. Only he WOULD NOT TAKE THE DRUGS!
I was so aggressive with him, so unsympathetic. I pulled him inside to clean him up (He now had half a bottle of calpol all over his hoody) and screamed at him for being so silly and not letting me help him! I screamed at him in front of all his friends and I will never forgive myself. And that’s not even the worst part.
We left and made our way home without too much further damage. I had somehow managed to pull myself together reminding myself of how silly and selfish I was being and already I had tears streaming down my face. I told him I was going to make it all better and that I was there for him. I told him he needed to be honest with me and tell me how he felt so that I could help him, so that we didn’t have to dance around in circles of denial.
The minute we walked in the front door he threw up all over the entrance hall and five minutes he was fast asleep on the couch. He didn’t even wake up for supper and slept straight through till 7am this morning. And yes I checked on him every 2 hours.
I am not this kind of mother. When did my needs become more important than his? Why did I find it so hard to just love and protect and nurture him despite my dread of him being sick again. How is any of this his fault?
Everyone makes these mistakes and as long as I’ve realized I hear you say to me. But here’s the thing I just hate myself for getting to that place again and not doing what I’m usually so good at. Doing all that that is required of you as a mom at any given time. Those are the moms I look up to. And yes they do exist.
This morning he woke up bright and breezy with not a thing wrong with him. Oh the relief! That didn’t stop him from spending the day at home with me to play and bake cupcakes and do puzzles and play LEGO and read books and watch Shark tales and drink tea and talk and and and and:.
I guess it help that I know his love language because there’s no better apology that a day spent together doing all our favorite things.