The Momoir Project

It all happened so fast. And now, I sit holding my girls on my lap, all of us crying. Jane is feeling bad for hurting her sister. Jill is recovering from hitting her head and I’m trembling with the fear of what could have happened. But, mostly I’m ashamed for getting so upset.

It all started with Jane wanting to pick up her baby sister. It was nothing malicious. She was just trying to be a good big sister. I warn her she’s not strong enough to do this and suggest they play something else instead. They move around the corner, out of my line of sight. The giggling and playing continues and I return to the kitchen. Unloading the dishwasher, my thoughts are now on sippy cups. Are these safe or do they contain BPA? Should we be buying stainless steel ones?

Throwing the last few into the drawer, I hear a heart-stopping thud. The sound of a tiny fragile head hitting hardwood steps. The lapse between the injury and the cry is a long one. She is really hurt. I fly around the corner like a madman. My heart is beating so fast and my palms are sweaty. I’m so afraid of what I will see.

There’s Jill lying crumpled on the floor. I scoop her in my arms, and enraged, I yell at Jane to get on the naughty mat, pointing with a shaky finger at the green dragonfly rug by the front door. Jane runs to the mat and sits down. There is no backtalk, no kicking and screaming. No fuss. She knows Jill is hurt.

Holding Jill close, I start to examine her. Will she have a head injury? Cradling her tiny little skull, I feel for any bumps and tenderness. There is no blood and she hasn’t lost consciousness or vomited. She is going to be okay. As her little chest heaves with sobs, I kiss her tear-streaked face and whisper, I love you. Finally, I take a deep breath and start to relax. It is only then that I look around the room and my gaze stops at Jane. My heart sinks. There she is, sitting so quietly on the naughty mat, her big, beautiful blue eyes full of tears and worry. She looks so small, so scared, so vulnerable.

I go over to her, wrap my free arm around her and reassure her Jill is okay and that it’s not her fault; it was an accident. I apologize for yelling and try to explain that I was afraid and wasn’t angry with her. I tell her mommies are sometimes naughty too.

We all snuggle together on the couch and read books. It feels so good to have the girls on each side of me. And by the time the stories are over, the crisis seems forgotten. Or is it? Not for me, probably not for Jane. I replay the ordeal over in my head, wishing I could press rewind and handle the situation differently. I wonder what my face looked like. I’m sure it was pretty frightening, especially to a sweet, sensitive four-year-old.

Since I’ve become a mother, I’ve felt more fear and anger than I ever did before. I worry constantly. I fear disease, losing my girls, everything. But most of all, I fear being a failure as a mom and making mistakes. Today, I was a failure.

At times, over the last four years, my heart has felt as if it would explode, my love for my children is so great. When they tell me they love me, when I have a magic kiss for a booboo, when they call for me in the night, I feel like I’m doing a good job. But, then sometimes I feel like my head is going to explode, and not from love. You know those days when your children just seem to lie on the ground screaming, just as you’re trying to get out the door. You try to pick them up and their shoulders collapse like noodles.You try to remain calm, but you can feel the warm blood rushing up your neck. Your cheeks and face flush. I know this happens to most everybody. But, when it happens to me, I feel like a failure, and I know it’s my fault. I’m the one who expects to be perfect, not them.

I never dreamed motherhood would be like this. During my pregnancy, I read a lot of books. Some were ‘how-to’ books, some were funny and some were way out there. But they never prepared me for the fear and anger associated with motherhood. I pictured myself as calm and collected mom who laughs, sings and runs barefoot with my children in the sand. I never imagined myself as this tired, miserable, fear stricken woman who sometimes gets scared, yells and then feels terrible after. A mom, who spends a lot of time on the naughty mat.

When we first brought Jane home from the hospital, I remember sitting on our leather couch breastfeeding and gazing into the sleepy eyelids of this beautiful angel and starting to worry about how I was going to protect her from the world. I thought about all children and how innocent and beautiful they are, and I felt nauseated at the thought of someone hurting a child. Visions of horrible things ran through my mind. I thought of my own parents and the pain they must have felt when my brother died in a car accident when he was just 19. It was so sudden, with no goodbyes. And as sad as it was for me, it must have been unbearable for them. I don’t think there can be anything worse than losing a child. Maybe this is why I worry so much, I’m not sure.

Until I became a mother, I’d never felt true, unconditional love. But, I also never felt so inadequate. It has been much harder than I expected and I’ve made so many mistakes. I’m not the mom I dreamt I would be, but I’m learning to embrace the mother I’ve become, and I can only hope that, in the end, my girls and my husband will forgive me for my fear and anger, for all those mistakes. But first, I must forgive myself. I must get to know myself again, learn once again, how to relax and face the world with the confidence and exuberance of a child. My child. My children.