Everyone Thinks I'm A Bad Mom

Somedays are good days. I push my triple stroller to the library, bring the boys to as class, and have a mom approach me at the end.

"Three boys, wow! And they're so well behaved. I don't know how you do it."

A statement to which I quickly respond that Nugget and Meatball are mine, but the three year old I watch.

"Still, I couldn't do that. And they're just so good!"

And then there are the bad days. Meatball screams his head off, not letting anything I do appease him, Nugget and daycare boy get into a fight over a toy yelling "MINE" in the library, and no matter what I do I can't get a balance and end up a frenzied mess.

It is days like these that leave me doing the stroll of shame. The stroll of shame is the long walk home from our destination where I replay all the events in my head and imagine all the bad things onlookers and other mothers said, or were currently saying, about me.

That's why you don't have three kids.
Did you see her, she doesn't even pay attention to them. Her baby was eating crayons while she was reading a book to the older one and it took her a few minutes before she even noticed.
Such a terrible mother. I'd never let her watch my kids.

These are the statements that swarm my head. I go to bed at night, analyzing what I did with the kids, was it enough, should I have planned another craft, should I have read to them more during the day, is Meatball lacking for attention, is Nugget, am I on top of them as much as I should be, do others think I push them to much, should Nugget know his colors yet, should I be teaching them words, how to spell, how to read, how........

"Go to bed," my husband will usually yell after I've tossed and turned for the fifth time. I've learned not to talk to him about these concerns. It always results in a fight. He tells me I'm doing a great job and that my thought and worries are ludicrous and that I just need to let the kids be kids. I read into that statement to much, "What do you mean they don't need structure? Do you think that they are so well behaved because it comes natural? That's me. That's my hard work. When people give you a compliment about your children, you should stop and tell them that you don't believe in structure, you believe in letting them be, so the compliment actually belongs to your wife and you will pass it along." At this point he ends the conversation, I'm heated up and he's walked away leaving me to stew in my ridiculous thoughts.

Last night was filled with those thoughts. I woke up tired, wondering how I was even going to pull through. It was beautiful outside. The kids would want to go out, I should want them to get out, but my heart and body wanted to sit on the living room floor catching up on my weekend newspaper, not cleaning a thing or lifting a finger besides to change a diaper and make lunch, and even that sounded exhausting. But twenty minutes into my morning my friend and Stroller Strides instructor badgered me into coming to her class. Swearing at her with every step there I half hearted walked into class, only to find out that she was planning on punishing everyone for the warm weather.

"Bathing suit season is coming, lets run five million laps around the building moms!"

If that wasn't bad enough, Nugget and daycare boy were itching to get out of the stroller.

Beaten up, and ready for the class to end, I let the boys out of the stroller when we stopped running and began our floor exercises. Nugget and daycare boy ran around the room like a bunch of uncaged hyenas and Meatball sat next to me laughing and crawling all over me. Seconds later there were screams. Loud, horrific screams. Nugget had ran straight into a table. His eye was immediately red, swollen and forming a larger lump by the minute. The other moms looked on in horror. Though they had followed my lead and released their children from the strollers, there's were quietly sitting beside them playing with appropriate toys, not running around the room. Nugget was fine. His crying lasted less than two minutes, and was more the result of tiredness, and I was back on the floor, Meatball crawling next to me, the two boys running around again. Hey, I've been to the Emergency Room, twice with Nugget for stitches already, a bump on the head was nothing. (But as I write this statement I again wonder if that makes me a bad mother, should I be more nurturing and soothing to him? Is letting him go play after he gets hurt, instead of holding him and rubbing his back, though he wouldn't let me do that if I wanted, snuggling only happens when there is no playing to be done, the wrong thing?)

I watch the boys run around, knowing that other eyes are on me, and my head is spinning with the words that other moms are saying in their head. I could only imagine what would be said as I left. And just as my mind spins, Meatball crawls by my side, and the instructor tells us to bring down our right foot and bring out our left foot, injury, aka bad mother incident, number two begins. Without thinking about the left leg stretch and the woman beside me, Meatball's coos turn to wails as the left-sided woman stretches her leg straight into his head.

I packed up the kids as fast as I could and got out of there, and in case your thinking I'm exaggerating about the thoughts and looks from moms like my friend Carney, "No one thinks your a bad mom, will you stop," she always laughs as I tell her one of my 'I think people think I'm a bad mom' story, I have to end the exercise story by telling you that no one, NO ONE, said good-bye to me as I waved and said "Good-bye Moms."

They hate me. They think I'm terrible. I know they do.

That night I repeated the story to my mother. Her horrified gasps were enough to reinforce the morning feelings.

"Did you ice his eye?"

"It's not that bad mom."

"Oh my god, go put some ice on his eye right now and give him some Tylenol."

"Mom it was hours ago."

The conversation went on. I appeased her by promising to ice his eye and give him medicine as soon as I hung up, and yes, to keep my eye on Meatball more. And the mom guilt was back. Not only were fellow LB moms probably home talking to their husbands or fellow mom friends about me, my mom was now hanging up, shaking her head and stressing out about what I'd just told her.

"Maybe I should come down there and watch the kids for you. Maybe I should take care of them so you can go to exercise class without them."

These words ran over and over in my mind last night. Not only did my mom think I was a bad mom, she was considering taking time off of work and driving five and a half hours to take care of my children for me. It's officially I apparently suck.