When I was the bad mother
A mother's honest reaction to being called the one thing that really hurts
“You’re a bad mother. You bring out the worst in your children. When you were not here, they were very well behaved, they didn’t cry, they didn’t even make a peep.”
I don’t know what to make of this.
I’m a stay-at-home mom, a work-at-home mom at times, to two toddler boys. As any mother would, I try my best to be the best mom for them.
Nothing would be as painful however, as being slapped in the face with such rude statements.
Sometimes I take it in stride, laughing it off as a “sure, whatever” kind of thing and not ever thinking about it again.
Sometimes I get into defensive mode, exclaiming that it’s because the kids didn’t feel comfortable enough with him/her to act and be themselves.
Sometimes I take it to heart, crushing the purpose of my entire being. I could almost hear it, “they’re better off without you…”
It saddens me, it angers me. It confuses me, it cripples me.
At such low points in my life, I look to the kids for validation. I remember perfectly how my youngest son’s eyes pop with so much joy whenever he sees me after a long time of being away. I can still feel the warmth of my eldest son’s embrace and his wet kisses that greet me every time I get back.
Just like that, everything becomes better.
Tomorrow when I bring the youngest to school, I’m sure it would be tough again. It would not be as easy as when someone else did it where, as if like magic, there was no crying, no kicking, no screaming “mah-mah!!! mah-mah! mah-mah…!!!”
But it’s okay. I know now that it’s not because of something I did. It’s because of who I am.
I am the mother, the comfort zone, the familiar in the strange, the calm in the storm.
He’d eventually learn to get out of it, grow out of it.
They all do.
In the meantime, if you have nothing better to say, spare me the heartache, just keep it to yourself.