I Am A Good Mom

I am a good mom.  I am a good mom.  I am a good mom.

I believe it.  I believe it.  I believe it.

But I hate myself for having so little patience with my son today.

He is needy and bored and kind of emotional.  So am I.  All of that, actually.  But I have stuff to do.  I have an agenda.

Today, I feel guilty for being just me instead of his psychologist or one-on-one aide from school.

All they do the whole time they are with him is fully engage him, tend to his needs, answer his questions, play his games.

I try to do that some of the time, but mostly I have laundry and cooking and cleaning and writing and other things to do.

He doesn’t get my undivided attention today, but he wants it a lot.

At the moment, he is planted in front of the tv watching a re-run of Wow Wow Wubzy.

He is occupied and entertained for a moment, but I hate the tv-is-babysitting-my-kid guilt that goes with that.

We spent an hour in the kitchen a while ago.  He’s an eager sous chef.  He wants to measure and pour and stir and roll and shape and scoop and drop and whatever.  For the most  part, I let him do a little of everything.

Today, though?  Today I have no interest in messes.

I don’t want more things on my list for cleaning, so I got annoyed when he grabbed the cookie bowl from me and started stirring in the flour a little too vigorously.  It flew everywhere.  I snapped at him, snatched away the bowl and left the room.

He followed me and tried to get my attention, but I couldn’t give it to him because I was mad and sort of at the end of my rope.  He got desperate and sad really fast.  I followed him back to the kitchen and gave him the bowl to do as he pleased, but I was still annoyed.  And then I looked at him.

He was standing on a step stool with flushed cheeks and bright pink pouty lips, trying to stir that stupid flour into the thick dough all by himself.  He was sniffling back tears and trying so hard to be a good helper.  He just wanted to learn and to do something with his mommy.   But I was an ogre.  I started to cry, I hugged him and then apologized for getting mad.

You know, I try really hard too, but damn this is a hard job.  My kid is so different from other kids and my life is not what I thought it would be.  I’m okay with all of that.  I really am, but it doesn’t make it any easier just because I’ve embraced it.

I’d love to have a Pottery Barn house and a Martha Stewart menu for my Thanksgiving gathering, but I don’t.  And I never will.

This is a Stove-Top stuffing, cat hair on the furniture, flying by the seat of my pants kind of place.  I do what I can.  And most of it’s for my kid.

I am a good mom.  I am a good mom.  I am a good mom.

5 thoughts on “I Am A Good Mom

  1. Becky, I certainly was an ogre-mom at times and always felt guilty, too. It’s normal for “normal” parenting situations, and you have many more challenges than most. Unsolicited advice: don’t be too hard on yourself; you are a good mom. ❤

  2. You are a good mom, you are a good mom, you are a good mom. I, too, flared, and yelled, and growled, and I think that goes with mom territory. You are doing a magnificent mom job. Until the time that your child is grown, your house will be lived in. When everything is quiet and still and the house is perfectly kept, you’ll realize that the “messy” house you lived in, entertained in, got sick in, got well in, bandaged knees in, was a home filled with a loving family who raised a dear little boy. Hang in there. You are so loved.

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