Kids say: "Less Imperfect! More Supermom!"

Us on a better day at Big Gym a few months ago



It started with poop. It always starts with poop. It ended with me having a massive headache and throwing up in the night. It doesn't always end with that. This didn't feel like a funny day or a day I could make light of; it was awful. Let's start with some background:

I took our son to Baby Gym at the community center for over a year. The one we went to was a great group of kids and parents, and it provided a great outlet for both of those groups--running around, climbing, and playing for the kids, and social interaction with good conversation and laughter for the adults. And it cost $1! He's since aged out of that group (18 months is supposed to be the end), though a few of us kept taking our oldies because we liked it so much. So now it's time for Big Gym (which follows Baby Gym on most days), which involves much more running and playing in cars in a much bigger space--still awesome! He (and the other geriatric kids) actually started preferring Big Gym; it turns out it matches their development level (duh).

Back to Friday. He's in the bath first thing in the morning again. When asked if he wants to go to Big Gym, he replies, "Big Gym! Yay!" We talk about who he'll see, what we'll do, etc. He gladly gets dressed fast to go downstairs to eat granola (see previous post) . . . all in the name of getting to Big Gym.

Meanwhile, I'm running around getting everything ready. I'm always slightly appalled by how long it takes . . . how much effort and energy is expended . . . just to get one adult, one toddler, and one baby out the door. Let's not even discuss how long it takes to get two adults, one toddler, one baby, AND ONE DOG out the door! So I'm traumatizing the poor 7-week-old by letting her cry on the bed while I stuff a million cloth diapers into a bag and search for extra outfits in the neverending pile of laundry that resembles the floating island of trash in the Pacific. I'm doing ok! Or so I think. Last item: snack for after gym but before we get home. I pack some leftover food in a tupperware and throw it in the bag. Child sees. Child wants. Child wants now. "You just had your granola. This is to eat at Big Gym." This does not please Child. Child wants to eat it in the car or now. I angrily say, "You can eat this now at your table, or we can go to Big Gym."

"Eat at table."

"Do you want to go to Big Gym?!"

"No. No gym. No thank you."

This is where it gets ugly. I have run around all morning trying to get us ready for our 25-minute trek just so he can have some fun, and now he doesn't even want to go.

A Perfect Supermom would have just given him the damn food. A Perfect Supermom would have calmly packed some more for him to eat later. A Perfect Supermom would have done everything that I should have done. But this ain't called Tales of an Imperfect Supermom for nothing.

So I lost it.

I (again, angrily) threw down the food and raised my voice. And I swore at my baby boy. Not just in his presence but at him. Ugh. Then I ran upstairs, called my husband at work, and proceeded to yell toward him about how awful everything was and how much I hated everything and how there was no point in doing anything for anyone anymore. He had an emotional reaction in which he said that we should just find me a regular job (besides the business I run part time) and put the kids in daycare.

Spirit crushed.

Upon hearing that he was coming home now for an early lunch to save me (or our kids, more likely) for a little bit, I took the computer into the closet of the extra room and cried. I was thinking that there was no way I could possibly write about this and put it out there for the world to see because it was so horrible. I was so horrible.

While recovering from this incident, which I still am, I have realized that that's why I'm writing at all. Most of us have these moments or others flubs, and most of us end up feeling awful at some point in our parenting careers. While the bar being set where it is doesn't excuse my behavior, I still need to work to forgive myself. And I share this with anyone who reads this in the hopes that it will inspire them to work to forgive themselves if they find themselves in similar situations.

His main Montessori school teacher wrote a little article about how wonderful toddlers are and said this:

"They are quick to forgive. Two year olds don't hold grudges against their friends."

Nor do they hold them against their imperfect parents. As I continued to cry, now in front of him, my son came over to me and gently said, "Mama sad?" "Yes," I replied, "Mama is sad." His dad told him that sometimes, when people are sad, it's nice to give them a hug. So he sweetly gave me a hug. Then he came back for another. And another. And asked about my being sad a few more times. I can still see his sweet face; I had never seen quite that look on it, as I don't think he'd ever wondered about my state as much as he was right then. I aspire to be like him and all the other toddlers who don't hold a grudge.

We proceeded to have a halfway-decent day, though it broke my heart when he said several times through it, "Big Gym?" It was, of course, too late by then. But we will try again next week.

There are many bright sides, and--while they sometimes make themselves clear--I sometimes need to hunt to find them. Last night, at the end of El Dia Horrible, we got to have dinner at my sister's house. It was her inaugural cooking of dinner for guests, and it was wonderful. Of course, to thank her, her beloved canine niece christened her home with a magically appearing piece of poo. Yep. We let the dog outside as soon as we got there, turned around, and there lay a little poop by the kitchen island. Our dog hasn't pooped inside in years! But that's how this family rolls. In related good news, my nice sister cleaned it up. And today our boy successfully pooped in the toilet, no renegade poop to be found. And he borrowed a stroller from his playmate and pushed it home from her house, looking absolutely adorable.

And my hubby took care of both kids while I slept the remains of my headache off in the morning. And life is, once again, good and full of hope.

At the end of the night, while I was trying to quickly finish something before nursing Baby Milkface, my husband jokingly said that she was saying (by crying), "Less Imperfect! More Supermom!" And so I shall try to be. I am going to continue trying to be the best mama and person I can be in the hopes of raising wonderful human beings who can pass it on.

Please tattoo me all over my body with that so I can't help but read it the next time I am tempted to lose my cool.