Humble

Do I want my last NBPM post here to be the one where I talk about my UTI? No, I do not. (Sorry about that, by the way, I have no filter when I'm drunk. Except that I wasn't drunk. At all. I need a new excuse.) So post again I shall.

Today was both a great day and a really awful day where Matthew and I both reached the outer limits of our ability to parent. You know when you're doing something and you're thinking "I really REALLY should not be doing this. I am doing something that is wrong and hurtful to my kids and I can see that and still I can't stop myself." Do you know those moments? Those are the moments that shock the hell out of me. I found out quickly that parenting is humbling. I'd say about 16 hours after giving birth I figured that out. But when you're coasting along and things are going well you forget. You forget that you don't know what you are doing, that no one CAN know what they are doing in this job, and suddenly the bottom drops out and brings you crashing back down to earth. Cold, hard, unforgiving earth. This is what "humbling" means. Not winning an Oscar or an Emmy. It's when life makes you hit the ground and for a minute you're pretty sure you'll never be able to get back up again. But you get back up, apologize, and try to do better next time.

I'm not getting down on myself or on him. I have flaws, Matthew has flaws, we're not perfect and I don't expect us to be perfect. But sometimes I REALLY wish this job was easier.

Comments

[kara]

A fucking men sister.

[laurie]

You are wonderful in part because I can read this and relate to it although I have parented nary a child. Yesterday was a "not sure I can get back up" sort of day but here I am, because that's what you do, I guess.

I'm selfishly glad that you're sticking with this this year.

[E.]

Dude, I have been there. I appreciate your willingness and ability to articulate it.

One of the hardest things about parenting for me is that the things that drive me most crazy about my kid are things I realize (in rational moments) he inherited from me. He's getting to the age where we can feed on each other's bad energy, and when this starts happening, it's not good. Me, I'm patient, patient, patient... 'til I'm not. That's when things get ugly. (And I look at the little one, the one who is as yet too young to *really* push my buttons - though she does play with them occasionally - and I wonder "What have you in store for me, my girlie?")