Shut Your Mouth

I've had several Bad Mother Moments since Lumpyhead came around.

Like when I dropped off my friend Jerry at the airport, and wanted my old life back. I miss being able to go off on weekend getaways with Bump, planning the trip at the last minute. The Wednesday emails from USAirways still taunt me with their "look at all the fun places you could go if you weren't a mom" destinations. I scan them and think, "Ahh, Charlotte. We could have gone to Charlotte this weekend."

[Reality check: I don't want to go to Charlotte. I've never wanted to go to Charlotte. What the hell would I do in Charlotte? We would drink beer and play gin rummy in the hotel room if we ever got stuck in Charlotte, for crissakes. Why would I go to Charlotte on purpose? Now, Charlotte-lovers, don't get all pissy and email me about what a great destination Charlotte is. I'm just using it as an example. Delete "Charlotte" and insert "Hartford" if it makes you feel better.]


Or the time I was doing laundry while Bump was sleeping, and decided to take Lumpyhead to the laundry room with me. I put Lumpyhead in the empty laundry basket, and he looked very, very cute. Then he wiggled his way out of a seated position and started to cry, because he had scraped his arm on the laundry basket. Oh, look! Bad Mother Moment plus Bad Mother guilt! The baby has a red spot on his arm, and it's all your fault.

[Reality check: the scrape went away in three days. Three guilt-ridden, I'm-sure-he'll-be-scarred-for-life days. No sign of the scrape remains on his buttery-soft arm.]


I'm sure more Bad Mother Moments are coming. And I'm sure there will be some I can't reality check away. But I'm doing the best I can, and I know my heart could not withstand loving this little man any harder. So Bad Mother Moments and all, it's still a pretty fun ride.