Entries Tagged 'worst.mummy.in.history.' ↓

I’ve been around a few kids in the past couple of years who could be considered problem kids.

I know, technically it’s wrong and unjust to call a three-year old a problem child, but for the love of all that is holy like Justin Timberlake shirtless with five o’clock shadow, when one kid goes after another child who they know is apprehensive about them (aka scared as shit) repeatedly for an entire summer? That kid’s got problems. That kid’s a bully.

So, I’ve sat there and heard and doled out my own judgements about why such bad seeds exist and those comments usually end up being about the kid wanting attention from a lack-lustre parent. Good/bad attention doesn’t matter, when you’re getting none, right?

This judgeyness that I’m so developed at, I turned it inward.

Isobel…people think she’s a really good kid. She’s smart, social, takes care of babies who cry, damn cute, a little pixie of a ball-buster. Win, right?

Seems I’m the only person she trusts enough to show her bad-ass wench moments to. Lucky me, being the special one to take the punches, hear the shrieks and still have to say “goodnight, I love you.” It’s fucking hard and it might be my fault.

I thought, maybe, just maybe, it was because I wasn’t paying enough attention to her. So today, we embarked on quality time that didn’t make me want to hang myself in a closet with a belt. Don’t worry – I’d totally blog my suicide note, if quality time ever pushes me to the edge.

We got a little culinary – and inventive.

She helped me make some honey flax bread. Then we made some chocolate fruit loaf. Then, we made dinner together – spicy chicken dahl stew.

You’d think, with all of this quality time and helping I let her do (Because me and letting people help, especially when they’ll probably do it wrong, is like pickles and peanut butter. Just isn’t happening.), she’d be thankful and gracious and welcoming.

Not my kid. She threw a fucking fit about eating her dinner. Only wanted the flax bread.

She hissied herself into tremors over having to pee before bedtime.

She freaked the fuck out about not swallowing the toothpaste when we brushed her teeth.

What the hell is up with that shit?

Then, she passed the fuck out. Thankfully.

What do I have to show for all of this quality time? A lot of dishes, left overs and an eye twitch.

If I were to be completely glib, we’d be playing the I Never game right now and I’d totally be drunk. Instead, let’s go systematically. Oh and men? You probably don’t want to read this one. (Don’t say I didn’t warn you)

Myth #1: I am such an artiste that though you cannot see a trace of makeup on me, my skin looks flawlessly even right now and has all day. Or it just is flawlessly even-toned and I don’t require makeup.
Fact: I’m so fucking pale at the moment, I’m as white as a sheet. Why? Because some fucker decided that since the miscarriage last spring, my period would get worse and sooner every single month – meaning I now have a 18 day cycle that requires me to take iron supplements or I might pass out if there’s some chance that I can even move from the pain-crumbled position the first two days of it are made of.

Myth #2: The nuance in my lower stomach is just the gentle contractions that a lot of women feel during menses, and are completely painless – more so a reminder of the wonder of the female form and all of its splendid ability.
Fact: There is a stabbing in my lower stomach on the left side that I’m pretty sure is my ovary exploding or cancer. Maybe it’s cancer. That would be okay because then I could definitely go for a hysterectomy, which would nullify myth #1.

Myth #3: I did not sleep with my ex boyfriend.
Fact: My back hurts. And I need a sofa. And hard wood floors are not good for coupling at the pace of 17 year olds who might get walked in on by a parent at any moment.

Myth #4: My body, as a result of my newly reformatted eating style, is completely balanced and feeling wonderful.
Fact: There is an open box of Monistat in my presence and I don’t think it’s going to do the job. Also, every day between the hours of 2 and 8 pm, it’s a struggle to stay awake if I’m not constantly moving.

Myth #5: I’m positive that Isobel’s teeth are not the purest white that toddler teeth should be as a result of her wheat allergy.
Fact: I’m terrified that it’s because of our lackadaisical dental habits for the first 32 months of her life. She’s 32 months and 5 days old, as of today.

Myth #6: Eating a wheat and dairy-free diet has meant that Isobel is eating whole, low-sugar, healthy foods every day.
Fact: The prepared snack foods that she eats frequently? Super high in sugar. The kid’s probably getting more damn sugar than all of your kids put together, between the Enjoy Life Coco-motion bars, EnviroKids Koala Crisps, Taste of Nature Exotics organic fruit and nut bars, Silk soy milk and fruit.

Myth #7: I’m confident that because of her diet, appetite, personality and activity level, Isobel will grow up healthy, strong and completely enamouring.
Fact: I’m terrified that she’ll grow into me. At seven years old she’ll be mentally unstable, unliked by all of her peers and chubby.

Myth #8: I’ve used the time offline productively and I feel good about all that I’ve gotten accomplished.
Fact: I’m still slacking on the work. I’m still behind. I’ve still got a tiny disorganized apartment, with boxes that should have gone down to the storage locker three months ago and a toilet that is growing something that might be useful toward this raging yeast infection. But I do have labels on my spice jars, now.

Myth #9: I’m making smart, educated decisions about our future, where we live and how.
Fact: I’m trying. But not doing it so well. Money is always tight, except for when it isn’t, which is when I overdo it, making it even tighter than usual. I need new shoes and have for months, need to go to the dentist, need a bigger space and furniture. But I haven’t done any of those things because I can’t afford to – because when I can afford to? I blow all of our money.

Myth #10: I am a baking master.
Fact: I stick to the easy recipes because I can’t stand having the chance to fail.

Myth #11: I am at peace with my decisions.
Fact: I think I’ve done little right in the past three years, part of which includes deciding to stay pregnant. I was so not ready to be a mom and every day, I see more of how I can’t handle shit and how my morals about certain things – like even TV watching – have gone out the window as a means to settle for less so I’m not constantly tortured by my shortcomings.

Myth #12: I miss my father. I wish he’d gotten to know and love Isobel.
Fact: I’m glad he’s dead. I hope there is a hell and he’s fucking roasting. I think the way he died, the fear he had at the end, the pain he went through, is all karma and I’m not sorry about it for him. I’m so glad that I never have to keep her from him, as a means to keep her head as screwed on as it can be. I’m terrified of how much like him I am and how that will affect Isobel’s self-esteem growing up. I can’t move on and this weekend, I plan to throw out almost everything of his that I own, except his ashes. Which will be packed into my storage locker, next to the vacuum.