I know I am, because Alvie told me so. (Of course, this morning, he told me that Jupiter was the bad guy, so it’s possible I shouldn’t take his criticisms to heart.)
Yesterday I was a Bad Mom. I was home with Mr. Bean because he was up Sunday night vomiting. In the bed. On his mom. Everywhere. So I stayed home with him.
The only – ONLY – good thing about having a sick kid is the cuddles that come with a lethargic, poorly feeling child.
That was not what happened yesterday. Instead, he woke up ravenous and full of energy. I was not ravenous and full of energy. I was tired and run down. In addition to being on week four of the bronchitis that will not die, I’d been up with a sick kidlet much of the night.
He was the embodiment of Longfellow’s “There was a little girl…”
He was the sweetest Bean until he wasn’t, and then it was hitting and kicking and throwing. And then kissing to make it all better.
A meltdown at lunch when he lost his cheese sandwich (he’d eaten it, and a second cheese sandwich was rejected; he wanted his cheese sandwich) was followed by a too short nap.
By four pm, after being hit, kicked, and having toys thrown at my head (kid’s got a good arm and some decent aim), I had to put myself in time out. But since I’m the only one who can be trusted to not kick the cats (yeah, that happened) or destroy the kitchen (don’t ask) that meant that my time out landed Bean in his room. He told me that he wanted me to go away and Daddy to come home because “Mommy too mean. Mommy a bad guy.”
He was not impressed with my time out. He did chill out fairly quickly, though, and started reading. And later, after the architect got home, I took myself out for a walk and a beer.
It was, to date, my roughest parenting day. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like I’d failed so very completely at being the mom I want to be.
This morning, though, it was all smiles and hugs and kisses. “I love you much, Mommy. I love me, too.”