Mommy Guilt: My Worst Parenting Moment Confessed

I just watched my son roll down our staircase. As in the image of his little body tumbling down our wooden steps as if they were a grassy hill, his little face red and terrified is seared into my brain for life. He is fine. A little battered, with a bruised and bloody nose and lip, and scared, but totally fine. Here’s the photographic evidence (not that it’s needed) in the form of my bloodied sweater.

I took my eyes off of him for one second, but that’s how it always goes, isn’t it? You look away for an instant, and somehow these little humans find a world of trouble. We were about to leave the house, so I had taken down the the baby gate that blocks our foyer and staircase. Adeline and I were having a “discussion” about why she couldn’t wear the only winter hat (yes, already that cold in Wisconsin) her brother has when she has 6 of her own. Then I heard the sound of Crosby’s well-practiced hand-hand-foot-foot climb up our stairs. I am often right behind him when he journeys up the steps. Anyone with a baby/toddler knows that once they discover stairs, it’s like an instant obsession. And Crosby has been obsessed for months, and after watching him complete hundreds of successful ascents up our stairs I had become desensitized to it and was not on my keep-baby-off-the-steps A-game. So I hesitated to pry him off of them. And just as I rose to go to him, leaving Adeline in a pile of hats to select from, I heard the thud, followed by thudthudthudthud as I watched, horrified, as he careened down. Injuries like concussion, internal bleeding, broken face, punctured lung flooded my mind. I called my parents, requesting they rush over cause “Crosby just fell down the stairs.” And before they even arrived I sensed he was fine, but I needed someone with more than my 3 years of parenting experience to assess the situation, to assure me that he was okay, and that I was okay. I called the pediatrician, who after hearing that his symptoms were “a little blood and crying,” agreed he was likely fine. But holy crap! I felt like there was a huge neon sign reading World’s Most Irresponsible Careless Mother pointing at my head.

And that’s when I knew I had another item to add to my growing list of Things That Make Me Feel Like a Shitty Mom even though I know I am not. I mentioned this to my dad, a former psychotherapist, who suggested I blog about them to get them off my chest and perhaps then I would feel a bit less shitty about them. But they are my deepest, darkest Mommy secrets. The moments where I know I messed up and perhaps, in the process, messed up my kids. In the long list of awful things a parent can do to their child, my sins are minor, like letting my guard down when my 11-month-old climbs the steps or not having the psychic ability to prevent my daughter’s tongue-gashing fall. But in my mind, I always see the things I could have done to prevent an injury (be it physical or emotional) and give myself an occasional beating for not doing so.

So, in honor of what my father suggested, I will spill the biggest fuck up of my 3 year Mommy career.

Crosby was 3-weeks-old. I had given Joey the green light to spend the weekend away with friends because I can totally handle this. I was still working on potty training Adeline, a feat we had begun about 6 weeks earlier. I was exhausted. Crosby was fussy. Adeline was grumpy and whiny. My patience had gone missing, and I was kicking myself for letting Joey leave. All of us were in Adeline’s room, Crosby was crying on the floor because he wanted to eat, but in that moment I needed to convince Addy to sit on the potty or put on Pull Ups because I knew nursing Crosby would make me more or less unavailable for the next 20 minutes. And she was refusing to either, screaming and kicking and flailing. I snapped, yelled something about returning when she calmed down and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me and heading downstairs to find the rational parent in me. I heard her fumbling to open the door, which was followed by sobs of Mommy, Mommy, Mommy. I returned to her room, opened the door and found her next to it in a puddle of pee. I could tell she felt so ashamed for having had an accident…and scared. I had essentially trapped her in her room, making it impossible for her to get to her potty. I think that’s what I hate about that moment with her – seeing that she felt so ashamed and that I had contributed to it, that I had made that moment about me and wanting her to feel how angry she had made me. And it worked, because she was freaked out. And even though there were hugs and apologies after, I still chalk it up as the worst parenting moment of my life so far. Especially because now, almost a year later, Adeline is still very resistant to potty training. Of course I’m blaming myself for it.

My biggest Mommy guilt is tied to how I lose my cool unexpectedly and become as irrational as my young child. I throw a temper tantrum right back. And while I don’t scream, I certainly admit to yelling and forgetting all sense of constructive disciplining. And it is so not fair to Adeline, and it definitely does not improve anything. I can be calm, cool and patient and then all of the sudden I cannot, and I almost always look back on these moments (thankfully there aren’t too many of them) with disappointment and disgust in my behavior.

I have been making very serious efforts to catch myself before I snap, to dig a little deeper, take a deeper breath and control my emotions and remember that I am the adult setting the example. I’ve succeeded so far. I just wish my kids didn’t have to be part of the low moments on my learning curve.

So. Do I feel less guilty now that I’ve shared my worst Mommy Moment with you? Not really, but it does make me feel less like it was some monumental event that traumatized my daughter. It was more of a monumental learning event.

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