Today I felt like a total failure at being a Super Amazing Stay-At-Home Mom. It really began yesterday afternoon and then just bled over into today, and I'm pretty sure that while I feel in my heart like a moronic seventeen-year-old without a clue, I look like a seventy-year-old life-long chain smoker. With bad hair and no makeup.
To help you gain perspective, here is the body of text from an email I sent to my sister and to Joe at work yesterday:
To help you gain perspective, here is the body of text from an email I sent to my sister and to Joe at work yesterday:
Noah just pooped ON THE FLOOR, NEXT TO the toilet.
He's been constipated all day, and kept sneaking off to do his pushing in other rooms. Every time I'd put him on the toilet, he'd suck it all back in and announce, "I'm better now!"
Finally, I was unyielding. Gates up, game on. I was in the next room when he called. "Mom! I goed! It's HUGE!" I said, "You pooped on the potty?" He said, "No! On the floor! Next to the potty!"
His tone of voice completely showed that he was having a "Why haven't I thought of this before?" moment, and it was so completely disgusting and unacceptable, I can't even tell you the freakout I had. He had also stepped in one large, deliberate blob, and then denied it, despite the fact that it was all over his sock and ground into--wait for it--the GROUT.
I freaking hate everything.
He's been constipated all day, and kept sneaking off to do his pushing in other rooms. Every time I'd put him on the toilet, he'd suck it all back in and announce, "I'm better now!"
Finally, I was unyielding. Gates up, game on. I was in the next room when he called. "Mom! I goed! It's HUGE!" I said, "You pooped on the potty?" He said, "No! On the floor! Next to the potty!"
His tone of voice completely showed that he was having a "Why haven't I thought of this before?" moment, and it was so completely disgusting and unacceptable, I can't even tell you the freakout I had. He had also stepped in one large, deliberate blob, and then denied it, despite the fact that it was all over his sock and ground into--wait for it--the GROUT.
I freaking hate everything.
Oh, yeah, and the toilet is now plugged. I can see the massive poop blocking everything.
Here is the email I sent him today.
You're going to come home one of these days and I'm going to be dead, and Noah will be standing on top of my corpse, smiling.
Still, despite the fact that Noah's personality and mine seem to mix as well as oil and vinegar, let's not forget that oil and vinegar make really, really good salad dressing. Right? There were a lot of tears in our house today, and at one point, Noah looked at me and said, "I don't even need a mommy."
At bedtime, I had to do something to make him know that everything was okay. That we all have really bad days, and we yell and we feel crazy, but we always love each other. Is there any better book in the world for that than Love You Forever by Robert Munsch? I don't think so.
And when I read, "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living--" Noah interrupted me by grabbing my face and kissing me. Then he said, "I'll love you forever, too, Momma. You're a good Momma."
Noah was wrong.... you are NOT a good momma. You are the BEST.
ReplyDeleteI love you. You are an awesome Mom.
ReplyDelete