Ugly Moments

Epic Mom-fail. That was last night. I had a shit day at work and was so looking forward to just a mundane evening at home. The child prep case worker was there for Chica Marie, so they chilled on the front porch while I prepared dinner with Love Bug. His latest thing is “helping” me make dinner. Usually, he does this to get closer to the cabinet that holds the treats, but last night he was adamant about helping me make the less-than illustrious dinner of turkey sausage, a pack of Knorr noodles (the last pack we have, and in keeping with our whole foods choices, it will be the last, although this makes me sad because those suckers are a good last-minute side dish choice…. Damn you convenient processed foods!), and unshelled edamame.

 

Love Bug and I ended up eating alone too, since Primero was sleeping on the couch and Chica Marie was still outside with her case worker. We were mostly done when Chica Marie came stomping into the house. I went outside to talk to her case worker who declared she had had quite an attitude during their session. She was still maintaining her stance on not wanting to be adopted and wanting to live with her grandmother. So, when I went back inside I tried talking to Chica Marie. First, I asked why she had an attitude with her case worker and she just shrugged. I asked her why she didn’t want to be adopted and what other options she thought might be more acceptable than adoption. She declared she didn’t need a mommy or a daddy and would be fine on he own. In her bedroom of course. I tried to reason with her, in a lighthearted way but our conversation really didn’t go anywhere.

 

While I was trying to reach Chica Marie in the kitchen, Love Bug invited himself into my bedroom and tore apart a cabinet where I keep my Mary Kay products. He left a trail of destruction from the door to the other side of the bed and it was only when he brought me my necklace that I realized he was in my bedroom. I immediately became incensed. I thought he was sitting with Primero in the living room and instead, while I was trying to get through to one kid, he was destroying my things. I yelled, I screamed, I told them I wanted them all to go away. It was one of my ugliest moments.

 

Met with indignant teenage defiance, I fought with Primero and we ended up dumping our personal things on the floor, literally. After putting my items back into the decrepit cabinet twice (the shelf fell, angering me more), I angrily finished washing the dishes and went to hide in my room. I was sitting on my bed staring at the contents of the drawer Primero upended on my floor when I heard Love Bug ask Primero for chocolate milk. I remembered we had very little milk and thought I should probably go to the store to get some. On my short drive there I contemplated not going back home. I wondered how far I could get before the van died or I ran out of steam. I figured I would head west, since it was the direction I was the least familiar and less likely to run into someone I knew and I could just stay wherever the van left me and just start over there. At the grocery store a young mom with a little boy, a little younger than Love Bug with a head full of fluffy curls, was in the check-out line behind me. Her son was so quiet, I kept staring at him, wondering if he was real. He dropped his football and I eagerly waited for him to start wailing, screaming for its return. He pointed to it and called “ball” but he didn’t lose it, he didn’t meltdown or throw a temper tantrum in any way. I left the grocery store thinking, “not my kid.” Love Bug does not sit quietly. If he had dropped his ball, he would have screamed his head off until he got it back. What am I doing so wrong that my child, who is older than that little boy, cannot sit for a moment so I can buy the damn groceries? My sense of defeat was profound. I cried on the way home. Sad, lonely tears running unchecked down my cheeks. I didn’t bother to wipe them away.

 

I wanted to run. I wanted to disappear and forget about everything. But, I got the milk and a few other things and went back home. I gave the kids a bath, I did Chica Marie’s hair, I put the children to bed. Primero text me while I was at the store, but I didn’t respond. I took a shower and that’s where the guilt hit me. I wanted these children, they were the answer to my prayers. This is what I asked for! I so desperately wanted motherhood! Of course, my version of motherhood always had the help of a loving partner. And, I certainly thought there would be plenty of mundane moments, I just didn’t think my personal space would be so violated, so obliterated. I’m not my own person anymore. I have no sanctity. My person, my personal belongings, my everything is no longer just mine. It is for my children to use, to explore and to trample, to invade. I wept in the shower, just because I needed to feel something and because I felt awful. I’m a terrible mother. After fighting so hard to get here, I wonder if I should have believed the thoughts that told me God didn’t want me to have children or He wouldn’t have made me infertile. I’m undeserving. I look at a well-behaved kid in the grocery store and wonder if my biological child would have been more prone to sitting calmly instead of losing his shit over a dropped toy or some other minor infraction. I’m guilty of thinking the what if’s. I’m unworthy because I cannot love every minute of every day and all I want is my stuff to remain untouched. I’m a terrible mother because sometimes, after a really shitty day at work, I just want to be left alone.