I've No Idea
It’s been a tough day. I’m completely distracted by an argument I’m in with my brother, again. I haven't been able to shake how upset I feel about it.
I snapped at Tate when she didn’t come right away. It was time to leave the playground and I wanted not to have to ask her more than once.
I couldn’t find the humor in her pretending to be asleep in the car when we got to the store and lunchtime was already upon us.
I was impatient while she picked at her dinner, criticizing how slow she eats, demanding she use more manners. I was rude and short when she didn’t deserve it.
I’ve not been present or really in my body since this morning. I’m just going through the motions, trying to get to a time (namely, after bedtime) when I can sort through my feelings and come up with how to move forward.
While brushing Tate’s teeth, I insist she focus and keep her mouth wider open for me. And when she curls up with our old hound dog afterward, I lecture her about respecting his space. My nagging is exhausting me.
One of those days. Ach.
At bedtime, when everything slows before the moon shines, I see how the day has added up and want to beg for forgiveness. I try, instead, to forgive myself.
And then, on my knees leaning my upper body onto her bed, I humbly admit to Tate, “I’ve absolutely no idea what I’m doing, you know that, right darling?”
“What do you mean, Mama?”
“I mean that I’ve never been a parent before, before having you. You’re my first - so everything I do and say and try as your Mom is new to me. I’ve NO idea what I’m doing, “ the tears fill my words up, slowing them as they make their honest way out of my throat ...
“I’m just making it up as I go along, doing my best to be a good example for you, which sometimes I am and sometimes I’m not. I try also to take care of you as best I can, while taking care of myself, too, which is hard, honey…” the words so full now, so full of truth, they soften.
“Ohhhh, Mama,” Tate whispers. She looks at me, there on my knees, in such wonder, forgiving me with everything in her. Her whole body hears me and accepts me, “I know, I know you do, Mama…”
