Unforgivable

Our groomer has offered to help me find a better  place for King Simon.  Below is my letter to the heroic and selfless animal rescuers who will make it their mission to place him in more loving and able hands.

I crowned him King 8 years ago when I adopted him and vowed to be his faithful and final servant. He had 2 or 3 previous owners, terrible allergies and a few surgeries to have his skull mended, his eye replaced…and then again removed. He helped me to buy my first home where he tested the carpets to see if his allergies would permit. He faithfully escorted me down the aisle when I got married to a man who not so secretly disliked him. He sat with me day and night when I was sick for 18 months and unable to walk or play with him as he was once accustomed. He welcomed both of our sons into the world and our home. Even though the arrival of little ones would mean less attention and care along with erratic grooming and feeding times and regular relocation of his food and water bowls. He is a lap dog and I am sad to say my lap is full now. I hope somebody with the patience and commitment to his comfort will rescue him from daily neglect and shunning that is his life now. I am crying as I write this. I cannot have my boys witness this sort of treatment for an animal and think it ok. He may have Cushings Disease but has not been formally assessed and diagnosed or he may just be deranged from loneliness and confusion over the banishment and dismissal from the one who named him King and worried that after having children, I might find myself unable to love them as much as I do(did) him. This is heart breaking and humiliating, a tremendous failure of mine. I am no longer worthy but he is. Please help him find the love and care he deserves and needs. He is playful and gentle and so darn cute. He will sit in your lap for hours and sleep nightly by your side if you like.

The Ugly Truth

I am happily able to use my blogs to brag  about my husband and our children and to complain about  my family.  Anyway, I am feeling rather synthetic because,when blogging, I  speak  regularly of how brilliant it can be, here in our home.

There ARE times when I seriously hate my husband.  Or at least moments when I believe that I do.  But mostly, I hate something he does or in many cases does not do.  In therapy I have learned again and again that when I am intensely upset, my reaction is reflective of old unresolved pain more than it is that particular moment. (Knowing this does not always ever help me in the heat of the moment.) I exclude accounts of our unfortunate exchanges here, in my blog, for obvious reasons.

I do lose it regularly with my husband and have done so twice with our older boy and not yet  with the younger (in a way that he knows).  With both, it was postpartum madness/exhaustion(after baby#2) and arguing with Andy that made me too fragile to handle even little situations.

Ernie had stepped in dogshit after I had just pointed it out. Then, because he was only  2, he failed to properly cooperate as I attempted to cautiously remove his brand new 68$ poop-caked Stride Rite shoe.  He was A BABY and I, in the meanest voice I can imagine with a snarly face said,  (God it makes me sick to remember this.):  "Pick up your fucking foot now."

Regardless of my actual words, my face and tone easily suggested "I hate you." I cried immediately as I explained/apologized that I had used a mean and scary voice and that it was wrong.  I hugged him and told him I loved him and that Daddy would be coming home so mommy could rest and do a better job tomorrow.  I immediately called Andy at work to demand he come home because I was too tired to be trusted.  The lump in my throat is immense as I recount this. I have still not forgiven myself for this, but hope and believe that Ernie has.

During this same time, Bert's reflux  allowed him to only sleep 22 minutes at a time while being carried by a person in motion(generally me).  He  nursed every 40 minutes for 30 minutes.  You think, cool, you got to sit down, at least.  I lost almost 25 pounds in these months after Ernie arrived.  There were times in the night or when Andy returned from work and I would hand Ernie over like  a sack of moldy potatoes and say "Take this fucker, now".  And then instead of sleeping, I would cry from exhaustion and fear.  I apologized to sweet baby Bert also.  While apologizing does not fix a thing, a commitment to do better is hopeful.

On another dazzling occasion, Ernie was sitting in his car seat saying "get out get out" and after one too many, I told him:   "We can get out when we get home.  AND if you  say it again I will turn the music loud so I don't have to hear it."  He did.  I did.  Not Nice.  I apologized after we were home right before I requested that he apologize too.  We worked it out.

So anyway, this post began because I wanted to expose today's brief but bad parenting moment with you.  I will  begin by sharing what I learned.  That is:  When I am neglectful of my boys needs, they become pains in the asses.  Fair enough.  Neither of them are even 3yrs old.  Naturally, they require a lot.

On our 2nd day rainy day in the house, it was silly for me to think I could load the dishwasher,pay bills, and fold laundry while they entertained themselves in a way that would suit me.  Bert opted to repeatedly pound on King Simon and play in the trash while Ernie was using a stool to reach and clear everything off the counter to the floor.  Instead of trying to remain checked out, I checked myself.
I initiated a game of hide and seek and we were all much happier.

Poor guys, they have so much to teach me.  Please feel free to share some of your less flattering moments, especially if you have acted as hatefully as I.  Please email or use the comment box so we can all benefit.  ALL, me, along with my 3 readers.  Your confessions are safe here.

Sweet Dreams

In a dream this morning I was visiting with a long lost cousin whom I'll call Susan. I always liked, admired, and feared Susan((feared)for her harsh judgment of me). In the dream, we sat together at a park, musing over our transformations into mothers. Aside from genetic material, I believe loving our children is all that might link us. I cautiously inquired if it felt strange to love each of our children so differently and not know specifically why. Is it gender, birth order, personality, circumstances... An unexpected sense of tenderness moved me when Susan testified that: "Children are gifts because they save us from ourselves by demanding that we change to accommodate our distinctly sacred role as Mommy. They teach us new and better ways of being. From each of them we will learn unique lessons about ourselves." I welcomed this humble and endearing confession by someone whom I otherwise suspected incapable of contemplating her own evolution. I enjoyed the intimate dialog with a family member whom in real life I will probably never actually connect. What I appreciate equally is that I have the good fortune of a husband who today got up at 5:30 to care for Baby Bert and allowed me 2.5 hours of needed rest. It was this deep deep bonus sleep that lent itself to my unlikely but agreeable reunion with Susan. The birth of our first son delivered me to motherhood. His arrival unleashed a genuine selflessness that is without bounds. I cannot think of any one quality for which I feel more proud or grateful. He has revealed the possibilities for who I get to be rather than who I have to be or will never be. This appreciation for him is one I cannot know with our younger son, because I was already a mother when #2 came around.. That imbalance makes me a little uncomfortable. So, it was nice to bare this unguarded confession with someone who,in real life would likely not affirm or share it.