I’m not a terrible mom y’all. I’m one of those people who judge. Yes, that is the end of that sentence. I judge too much. I can pretend that it’s not true, that in my heart I don’t think, ”how can you let your child get hurt in the face three times in a row? Why didn’t you think to move the chair from that spot after the first time she bumped her head THIS hard on that thing” when you tell me she keeps bumping into the chair you have in your living room. Every time she walks in she just bangs right into it. I might have laughed and said, that’s so cute because of shes still wobbly and is still learning to walk, but…not what I’m thinking. I wish I was better than that.
Here’s the thing though; I do that with myself as well. I judge myself even more harshly. Maybe in many cases, I will see where you are coming from. Maybe I will understand that you can’t keep rearranging the furniture. That your daughter needs to see it, and eventually, she will. After all, how many things can she bang into? Are you going to remove every obstacle from in front of her?
I get it. When it comes to myself, I don’t always, get it. I am my harshest critic. Then something happens. I tell my kid it’s time for bed, his 5 minutes of play is over, he can’t read another book and he tells me that I’m a bad mom. There are that judgment and terrible doubt. Maybe if you were listening to a bit more carefully, and gave him more warnings he would be better prepared. The annoying little weeds of doubts. I’m not doing it right.
Then we see things. I’ve talked about it before. I know I’ve done this before. That’s the problem with us humans. Especially with creatures like mothers, once or twice is never enough. We are so full of self-doubt and negative emotion for ourselves that we need all the help we can get in this department.
The world turns on us every minute, second if it can. We turn on each other. We are always, ALWAYS ready to tell each other that there is a better way to do what we are doing with the beings we love the most in this world. When we get told we might be messing up our most loved possessions…well nothing messes us up more than that.
Until…UNTIL they tell you that we are getting it right. Also that we are 20 years younger than we actually are.
Only in moments like those I give myself a break and realize that I’m not terrible and my kid doesn’t think so either. Really, at the end of the day what does it matter what a few acquaintances or even people around me think. They are not my child’s mother. They are not in the trenches with me. They can never understand the nights spent holding them protecting them from the thunder and lightning. They can never understand the joy and pain of watching them take the first step but then letting them bump into that chair to learn that there will be objects, go around. Or stop and read the room. But my child gets it. They may tell me at the moment that they don’t like me or hate me even, but they get me.