LJ Idol: Six of One, Half a Dozen of the Other...
“Parenting is the most humbling thing we will ever do in our lives,” someone once told me. “You are inevitably going to fuck up and it will hurt the ones you love most in this world.”
Ouch. Talk about a reality check.
When I look at my child, I see everything good in the world – and then he spits a mouthful of water in my face. (It’s funny now; at the time, it was less so.)
“Take this A-Hole from me,” I remember saying to my partner-in-crime-and-parenting. Of course, mothers are not the only ones with inherent survival instincts about their kids, so said A-Hole’s father was already reaching to take him out of my arms before I throttled him to Z-Hole status. “If you were anyone else in this world,” I growled at the aforementioned A-Hole and let the threat trail off as cartoon like visions of punching someone and sending them through a wall floated through my brain.
And there it was – the Impossible Conundrum – wanting to kill your child and loving them to death at the same moment.
Quite frankly, while I am not a pacifist, I don’t choose violence – but the odds are astronomically high I would have hit anyone else on pure instinct fueled by disbelieving rage. But, not this A-Hole. Not MY little A-Hole. Him, I wanted to survive to another day.
I walked into my kitchen and wiped my face with a towel. I could hear A-Hole’s father, “That’s not nice. You hurt mommy’s feelings.” I could hear A-Hole as he started crying in earnest, foolishly thinking that the worst thing I could have done to him was walk away. “Say you’re sorry.”
Not likely. A-Hole is barely 2 and not at all cognizant of some of the more subtle social niceties – like not spitting in someone’s face, or apologizing if you spit in someone’s face.
He cried. I took deep breaths. A-Hole’s daddy tried to parent. “Be nice to mommy,” I heard. “Don’t spit,” I heard. “That’s yucky,” I heard.
But that all drowned out into background noise as the true upset in my son’s voice became more and more clear. I heard him scramble down and I heard his feet as he ran towards me. I turned and watched him come, his face squashed up in real misery, and all my anger vanished. I knelt before he even got to me and he literally threw himself at me, desperate to feel loved, safe, secure.
“It’s okay, baby.” I said. Truthfully, it wasn’t, and it was at the same time. There are other days to tackle social boundaries and bodily fluids and germs, but it wasn’t this day. This day, this moment, my job was to love that little A-Hole with all my heart. So, I did.
Or, maybe I just fucked him and let him think it was okay to spit water in people’s face. It’s impossible to know at this point. Wish me luck!
This entry was written for therealljidol 04: "Impossible." If there is one, I will share the poll. Thanks.
Ouch. Talk about a reality check.
When I look at my child, I see everything good in the world – and then he spits a mouthful of water in my face. (It’s funny now; at the time, it was less so.)
“Take this A-Hole from me,” I remember saying to my partner-in-crime-and-parenting. Of course, mothers are not the only ones with inherent survival instincts about their kids, so said A-Hole’s father was already reaching to take him out of my arms before I throttled him to Z-Hole status. “If you were anyone else in this world,” I growled at the aforementioned A-Hole and let the threat trail off as cartoon like visions of punching someone and sending them through a wall floated through my brain.
And there it was – the Impossible Conundrum – wanting to kill your child and loving them to death at the same moment.
Quite frankly, while I am not a pacifist, I don’t choose violence – but the odds are astronomically high I would have hit anyone else on pure instinct fueled by disbelieving rage. But, not this A-Hole. Not MY little A-Hole. Him, I wanted to survive to another day.
I walked into my kitchen and wiped my face with a towel. I could hear A-Hole’s father, “That’s not nice. You hurt mommy’s feelings.” I could hear A-Hole as he started crying in earnest, foolishly thinking that the worst thing I could have done to him was walk away. “Say you’re sorry.”
Not likely. A-Hole is barely 2 and not at all cognizant of some of the more subtle social niceties – like not spitting in someone’s face, or apologizing if you spit in someone’s face.
He cried. I took deep breaths. A-Hole’s daddy tried to parent. “Be nice to mommy,” I heard. “Don’t spit,” I heard. “That’s yucky,” I heard.
But that all drowned out into background noise as the true upset in my son’s voice became more and more clear. I heard him scramble down and I heard his feet as he ran towards me. I turned and watched him come, his face squashed up in real misery, and all my anger vanished. I knelt before he even got to me and he literally threw himself at me, desperate to feel loved, safe, secure.
“It’s okay, baby.” I said. Truthfully, it wasn’t, and it was at the same time. There are other days to tackle social boundaries and bodily fluids and germs, but it wasn’t this day. This day, this moment, my job was to love that little A-Hole with all my heart. So, I did.
Or, maybe I just fucked him and let him think it was okay to spit water in people’s face. It’s impossible to know at this point. Wish me luck!
This entry was written for therealljidol 04: "Impossible." If there is one, I will share the poll. Thanks.