The Bad

Now that it's dark, and quiet, and everyone else is sleeping I can finally reflect on the day with less anxiety. And what a day it's been. Two days, actually. All yesterday and all today I've had a raging eye infection, which is bad enough on its own but worse because I'm not used to wearing my glasses. Of course I can't wear my contacts with a swollen and red eye, so I have to rely on my glasses, which affect me physically (dizzy, headache, nausea) as well as psychologically (vulnerable, volatile, crabby).

I have not been my best self the past two days. The eye, the big, awkward belly, the constant heartburn. It's just not a good combination. I know that my bad mood has significantly contributed to Gage's misbehavior these past two days but I'm still shocked and embarrassed by how he's been acting.

Gage bit Lila yesterday. And Gage bit Lila today.

Gage is not a biter. He's just over four years old and we've never had a problem with aggression of this sort.

But the more I think about my own actions the past two days the more I feel responsible for his.

Today in the car. Late, on the way to the doctor for my eye. Couldn't find my health card, hence the delay. My fault. Rushing Gage, sternly chiding him in the car, "Buckle yourself! Hurry up!" This is a new challenge for him, and it's not easy. He has little hands, and the buckle is stiff and non-compliant. He strains to click the buckle into place and misses. "Hurry!" I nearly shout.

Who is this talking?

Promising donuts for a successful trip to the doctor. The kids are golden. They sit patiently and quietly. We run out of time and have to go straight to Gage's preschool. No donuts. I'm never unreliable, except today I am. They notice.

But he bit her, and that's a problem. Yesterday he got scolded, and got a time-out in his room. He seemed honestly sorry...he did his time, he apologized sincerely. And then...today. The same thing. Lesson? Not learned.

I lost it. And he lost it. And Lila lost it. I sent Gage to his room, seriously enraged. I held and soothed Lila, and when she was calm I went to Gage's room with a big box and started packing up his toys. He was freaking out, but I kept on...packing up his toy kitchen, his train set, his cars. I told him he could have them back in a week if he showed me that he could control his temper.

I went back downstairs to Lila and cried. And cried.

Gage, when released from time-out, shakily told me that it was hard for him to control his temper. I nodded my head and said "I know. It's hard for Mommies and Daddies, too." Obviously. But biting? It's not okay.

And now, six hours later, snippets of the evening are running through my mind, making me tear up all over again.

Lila, patting my cheek with the whole of her hand, saying "Mama, you feel better? No more tears? You not feelin' angry anymore?"

Gage, face damp, asking, "Please don't talk about my toys. I'm just going to keep crying."

Mike, looking at me with patient sympathy. Knowing I'm not me.

And all the while I literally can't see straight. My world is rounded and slanted and jerky...my vision is like a bad movie filmed with a hand-held camera. Everything is wrong. Everything is just a little bit off. And it's been two full days.

"I have nothing left to give," I whispered to Mike at one point tonight, when Gage and I had finally stopped crying.

This is not me. I don't like this at all.

After bedtime I went to Lila's room, pulled her blanket up around her shoulders, watched the regular rise and fall of her chest, listened to the little sighing sounds she makes in her sleep.

I went to Gage's room, and climbed into bed with him. He didn't wake, but snuggled against me. He spooned his back into me, and then shifted so his furry head was pressing against my belly. Josie responded by swiping at the round top of his head with a hand or a foot, pressing her body against his, with me in between. When you're pregnant you're never alone.

As I nestled in Gage's bed with him the tears started up again.

He's getting to be so big now. He's my tiny little baby.

I want him to do the right thing. You expect too much.

His mistakes are my mistakes.


He needs to make mistakes.


I kiss his forehead and whisper "I love you. I love you so much."

He sighs in his sleep and murmurs back, "I love you too."


We all make mistakes.

We're none of us perfect.


But I know now. We're all going to be okay.