The dog was angry at me because I didn’t let him out fast enough.  I couldn’t fly down the steps in enough time to get him so he let me know by leaving an unpleasant present on the kitchen floor.  Meanwhile as I was busy getting ready to visit a friend, 16 month old Kevin spilled his cherry juice on our beige sofa.  I quickly moved him out-of-the-way. He lost his balance and fell.  I picked him up while he cried, I hugged him quickly, sat him down on the loveseat and finished cleaning off the juice.  He cried.  Finally I just held him and he felt reassured of my love, I guess, because he stopped crying. Sometimes he cries whether I’m holding him or not.  Those times I would rather not be holding him if he’s going to cry anyway.  I’ve thrown my back out many times and I see a Chiropractor once a month as it is.  How do you explain to a 16 month old that you can’t pick him up all the time, or even every time he needs me.  So I feel guilty.  Why.  It must have something to do with the image of a “perfect mother”.  Is there any such person?  I’ve often wondered.  If so, I’ve yet to meet her.  This is not the same as being a “super mom” who gets everything done on time and has all the kids where they need to be when they need to be there all the while getting the housework done in time to cook dinner.  No, the “perfect mother” never loses her temper, says all the right things, can listen to the wail of a baby in her ear without losing her cool and smiles sweetly and says “That’s ok, just don’t let it happen again”  when the angel spills milk for the 3rd time that day. from me or risk squeezing him to hard.  Or worse, leaving the room before I throw him against a wall.  Now I really believe I would never do these terrible things, but I can’t deny that they pass through my mind.  Which, in my opinion is much better than acting them out.  It is, in fact, a harmless way of getting my anger out.  After a few minutes, my anger dissipates and I run back and hug him and him and hold him and feel guilty for ever losing my temper at him.  Will he remember this, hold it against me, hate me for it?

Angela DiCicco