Parenting Is Not For Pussies

Typically I’m not thinking clearly first thing in the morning, have no routine and am never sure what to do next.

It was f-r-e-e-z-i-n-g.

My daughter has seemed distant lately and perhaps that is why I maniacally ran across the hallway and jumped in bed with her.  She has a perfectly purple room, a fantastically soft mattress, and

had no qualms about sleeping in my bed for something like 9 years.

At various times she peed on me and my brand new pillow-top mattress, barfed all over, and insisted on putting me in the middle with absolutely no concern for my cloying claustrophobia.

But she’s 14 and I now realize it was hallucinatory and irrational to think she’d treat me similarly & be happy to see me.  Instead she began screaming

“GET OUT!  GET OUT!”

You’d think that I, a woman who could not bear her own mother even before the onset of puberty, would understand the complexities involved.

But somewhere in my pea brain I thought it would be different if I (1) bent over backwards and stuck my head up my ass and (2) didn’t kill her when she said “Santa might get you great presents too if you were nicer to him like I am” and (3) tried to be the opposite of my own mother whenever humanly possible.

At first I thought she must be joking.  It was asking for trouble when I told her it was perfectly normal for children to sleep with their mothers.

I most assuredly never should have brought up my son and said I was sad he no longer holds my hand when we travel in the car together, never lays his little head on my right thigh as we drive along.

I was laughing but it only gave her more ammunition.

“He’s 26, Mom!  If my boyfriend held his mother’s hand I’d break up with him!” 

As for cuddling, “It’s not normal! 

It’s weird!  Only kids with cancer cuddle with their mothers!”

And this is how she wins every single time, she makes me laugh.  I had to admit she had a point as I imagined my own mother climbing into my bed and immediately wanted to remove the image from my brain with a pitchfork.

Truly, even the word “cuddle” makes me nauseous.

Clearly, I’m conflicted.

* * * * *

The same thing happened with my son at Christmas, individuation slapping me in the face.  I told him I thought we should talk more often since it’s maybe only once a month.

He agreed, but then got confused and said “Well, I don’t think EVERY DAY!  Ha ha ha!!!  None of my friends talk to their parents DAILY.  I think maybe GIRLS do that!” 

We were in the car and his body language told me if we’d been on solid ground he’d probably have started to run in mad man fashion, just to shake off even the idea.

* * * * *

But seriously, this parenting thing is such bullshit!  It’s all about abandonment and desertion, it’s heart crushing nonsense.  Why would anyone choose to do this to themselves, even look forward to it?

I thought I was so superior to the moms who used daycare even on their days off.

It seemed like devoting my life to the little fuckers was so incredibly unselfish and madonna-like.

* * * * *

There is no Dr. Spock of adult parenting.

In reality, my children are relatively lovely people.  I was using them to hide from the world, living through them so I didn’t have to make a life for myself and risk failure.  This is why I’m so discombobulated.

When they behave normally it makes me realize the full extent of my brain damage.

I’m pretty certain this has something to do with the fact that I always thought if I lost my mother in a clothing store she wouldn’t bother to look for me.  I was forced to individuate before I was ready.  So I had this idea that if I just loved them my children would want to be with me always, making monkey bread and hanging out in my kangaroo pouch.

My ideal family, the one I thought I wanted, is really a co-dependent cluster f*ck.