Loser

Do any of you out there ever feel like a loser--specifically a loser parent?

That's how I felt last night. Just when there's a part of me that thinks I have actually found a balance in things, inevitably I do something that completely throws off that equilibrium and then I decide that I really don't know anything about anything.

Last night was one of those times. I had a good friend over and as most kids do, my children thought "awesome, Mom is distracted," and decided to start doing things they knew specifically they shouldn't. I was no happy camper, and handled things poorly, which snowballed into an inordinately long timeout, and then a tense dinnertime where my kids continued to protest by claiming they were going to throw up if they had to eat what I had worked long and hard on.

This didn't go over well either, which then steamrolled into the inevitable "I guess you don't need to eat dessert then . . ." Big-O was especially upset, informing me that I was a "mean mom" and that I was "making [him] feel bad." This led to a seriously pathetic discussion about agency, which meant he wanted to discuss the situation even less. Why I was surprised later that he chose to pantry-raid (b/c he was hungry, of course) is beyond my current understanding . . .

Do you get the picture? By the end of the evening I retreated to my room alone with the baby and tried to just stop. Just stop. Waking up this morning I felt even worse and couldn't turn off the tears. I felt such regret over how I made my kids feel, and at how far I fell short of being the kind of mother I'd like to be . . . And, as most of you can guess, when mommasita cries a lot, it really doesn't help things. Even the baby's eyes got big and uneasy at this pathetic display of helplessness.

I hate days like this. Granted, I can actually write it about it now at 3:46 p.m. because I have sufficiently stabilized to at least see the computer screen. But seriously, thse are the moments I wonder if I should have ever become a mother--not because I don't enjoy my kids, though. I love that part, and feel blessed to be a part of their lives. The part of me that questions, however, is the part that used to fear myself enough that I questioned what kind of a mother I would become.

All of us have our own personal blindspots--heaven knows I have mine. Just ask my siblings. Having said that, when it came to wondering whether or not I had the kind of spiritual, physical, and emotional capacity necessary to successfully raise children, as a young adult I was keenly aware of my shortcomings and winced when I considered what I could possibly put a child through. This fear was so intense I recall telling Pearly-Q for the first few years of my marriage I really had no desire to become a mother . . . It's hard to imagine that now. Then again, on days like today all that emotional memory creeps up from behind and strangles me, leaving me gasping for air.

I'm sure this sounds so extreme, but for me it has been a defining part of who I am. I laugh to consider how often we assure ourselves that we do not need certain experiences to accomplish what we need to in this life--only to find that those are the exact experiences God intends us to learn from. I am grateful He chose to override my own fear and allow me the challenges presented by motherhood. It doesn't change how terrifying it is for me sometimes, but it does allow for certain rays of light my children present me despite my weakness.

Case in point: yesterday when I sat the kids down and asked whether or not they understood why they'd been subjected to a monster time-out, (we reviewed and they nodded an obedient "yes"), I then asked them if there was anything they needed to say. Whey Bitty stood up to reply, I fully expected an apology. Instead, he leaned forward, wrapped his arms around me, and said, "I forgive you, Mom. I love you so much," and then he sat and held me.

And in that moment, I considered myself so lucky to have children who believe in me even when I don't believe in myself.