Tuesday, September 29, 2009


I've been rather remiss about my blog lately.
Truthfully, I've been having one of those "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."
It's a far cry from my usual "If you don't have anything nice to say . . . come sit next to me" motto.
For multiple reasons, my life has dropped a big stinky one smack in my lap.
I'm a big girl. Shat doesn't bother me after three kids, dogs, cats, and The Man.
But this last pile left me wondering if I was really that crappy a parent or if I'd just had a bad start off the line.
As I've written before, Bug is having issues at school.
Not light the place on fire pyro issues or walk in wearing an arsenal issues, but issues.
We're saving the other issues for kindergarten.
No, he is having the kind of issues that make you sit back as a parent and wonder, in five short years, how you could have screwed up that badly?
Not that anything is wrong with Bug.
At least not anything that's his fault.
It's me.
And the Grim Reaper.
And me.
And some of The Man on the side. (Yes, he's the condiment parent.)
And me. (The main course)
I remember going into this parenting gig with great intentions.
They died under the onslaught of labor and drugs and having my body ripped open to bring forth life.
I remember thinking I would do everything just right.
That particular illusion crashed and burned in the middle of the night when I didn't know what to do with leaking boobs and a screaming baby.
I remember vowing I would always be there for my child.
Until alone, suffering PPD, I couldn't bear to hear my child cry any more and pondered escape.
And I understood why Bug is having the problems he's having.
He isn't the one failing.
I am.
Because of actions taken the last five years with good intent and wrong implementation.
I look to my child and realize if he's broken or damaged, I'm the one responsible.
A humbling, sobering, horrifying thought guaranteed to send me running for booze.
One The Man and my family and friends would argue with me about.
And one I will carry with me for life.
Wondering what if.
What if I had been better?
Been there more?
Been less busy?
Been more fun?
Been better?
Just . . . been.


Anonymous said...

Its a question each mother (or parent) asks everyday. I often wonder if I had handled things differently with your dad's illness, your older siblings, etc would things have been better for you and your brother. I'll never know, but will always wonder what if......

Anonymous said...

You are not to blame! There are plenty of parent out there that didn't suffer PPD, and their kids have very similar issues. Just remember, everything happens for a reason, and will work out in the end. And if his school makes you feel like these issues are your fault, then THEY are wrong!