My
eldest lay face down while my baby attempted to bite her feet. We were in a tiny appointment room next to
the large waiting area, door left open because the mini company I had to bring
could not be contained on the single exam table. I balanced my ever-overflowing tote bag from my shoulder while
trying to fill the forms on the clipboard pertaining to the general health and
well-being of my prone offspring.
Curled up in a corner chair, my 8 year-old read a book, while the
chiropractor busied himself with the computer prior to the adjustment.
“Yep,
a bit of scoliosis going on here, should be correctable with regular
visits. You see how she’s all tight
here? And here?”
Baby
was licking the mirror on the door now.
I tried to decide where my focus was supposed to be.
It
was then that I noticed the smell, and turned to see my just-recently three
year-old 2/3rds potty-trained daughter standing stiff, straining, and flushed, very obviously “working on something.” In the middle of a full waiting room.
Oh
no, it didn’t end there. No, she
decided to take her time with the procedure, as it was a rather overdue
occurrence. Part of me kinda admires
the complete obliviousness young kids have to social norms when it comes the
calls of nature… If only I had one iota of that serenity. I deliberately shut off my ability to
perceive if others were uncomfortable—since there was not a blasted thing I
could do about it during this rather important exam—and switched into survival
mode. I hyperfocused on the doctor’s
words, a tiny voice in my brain reassuring me, “He’s had kids, he gets it, he
can handle this.”
“Oh.” (nervous chuckle) “If she could
just not touch that table... she could get pinched.”
Wrong
focus. Focus off doctor, off pooping
preschooler, onto toddler near pinchy table.
I scooped her up to balance on my overflowing bag where she could slap
my clipboard and chew the office pen that said, “Relax and rejuvenate in our care.” My arm was on fire, my head was pounding as
I drowned in the humiliation of being a disturber of the peace, a leader of an
unruly hoard, a flawed human being who breeded little flawed human beings, the
opposite of put-together, with faults for all to see.
It
is hard to be a mom sometimes.
Unbelievably hard. Especially
when you have to bring your more-than-two children with you out in public
because no one could watch them at home, or because you underestimated the
challenge of the situation you were entering into. Especially when they were constipated and somehow, SOMEHOW, the
best laxative seems to be public places when you are down to the last baby
wipe, which is invariably dry as bone.
(Why oh why oh why!) Especially
when it’s a situation where—oh, I remember!—you used to be like the people you
and your kids are currently annoying.
“My
kids would never act like that.”
“Why
does she have her babies out with her here?
At this time of night?”
“Is
that kool-aid in the bottle?!?”
“Why
is her house such a mess? I guess she’s
just laid back about it…”
“Can’t
she talk on the phone without talking to her kids, ever?”
Not
that I was ever especially uncharitable.
I thought I was being reasonable.
I mean, the store is no place for kids after 9, right? And kool-aid, c’mon! But now—and I’m a pretty kind person, so I’m
not sure why I had to have empathy drilled into me over and over---I’m at the
other end, and I have the answer to all these mysterious questions: The babies
are out with her because her husband’s sick, and she just realized—after an
exhausting day—when she opened the fridge to get milk for the bottle that
there’s none left. Nor juice. So okay it was Gatorade, it looks like
kool-aid, not much better, but it almost kinda kept baby quiet while she
shopped. But then her tired toddler had
a meltdown over the non-acquisition of a toy that started to play music while
she ran the cart past Dancing Mickey Mouse Pants, so all eyes are on the mom stuffing
the kool-aid bottle in the mouth of the screaming baby while she books it down
the main aisle, eyes glazed, seeking the refuge of the car where the screams
would be louder, but at least the humiliation would be gone. She comes back to a mess which is usually a
mess because cleaning with children at home can be like plowing the sea. But oh, it’s not because she’s laid back
about living in a mess; she cares, deeply, but by the time it's nine PM she could weep with exhaustion most nights. And yes, if you are blessed with parenthood someday, your house, your
car, your purse, and your kids, will absolutely, positively, be some version of
that at some point, some day. Not that it's not worth every bit of it to have those kids. :)
I
hope I’ve really reached the place where I can see the insecurity behind the
rudeness of teens, the aches and pains behind the grumpiness of the
elderly. I’d like to think I’m beyond
judging in my life. Like about everything,
not just “other moms” and their choices of how to educate their children, or
discipline, or what they eat for dinner.
But also I hope I’ve stopped judging those of different political
parties...to consider the individual and not just the ideology. Those of different
faiths, or those with no faith at all. Those from different family
backgrounds. Those of different sexual
orientations. Those who appear rich,
and those who appear poor. If the daily
humility motherhood brings does not cure me of thinking I am better than
anyone, for any reason, nothing will cure it.
Because—just like how you can’t “get” being a mom till you’ve
experienced the full affect of a thousand sleepless nights--I have no idea what
they’ve been through as individuals, or any clear idea where they are now, or
what their future holds. I can in no way know for certain I would be better if I had been given the hand they had been dealt. But I do know for certain, when I see anyone in a
negative light of any kind because they are different from me; or I get to
thinking myself or my “kind” are somehow superior; or I’m just annoyed because
I can’t wrap my mind around how anyone could be “that” way--that there, but for
the grace of God, go I. Or from there,
by the grace of God, I emerged. And
sometimes, there—by the grace of God—I will someday go. Because sometimes we need to be broken to be
remade. And we all have so much yet to
learn. (Speaking of which... brb...Gotta go lecture my husband about the proper way (i.e. mine) to get these honyacks to bed while I blog...)
My
daughter wasn’t finished after I changed her in the car after the doctor; she
concluded the process in the middle of a restaurant. And to anyone who was there or at the doctor’s, yes, I changed
her as soon as I could. She’s a size
six, and I had apparently packed only size 3 diapers after all. Besides, she was having such a wonderful time shaking grated
cheese over her baby sister’s hair, who was laughing hysterically while I shot
pictures with my I-Phone. (Which
reminds me: having an I-Phone does not mean I am rich, or that I am a poor and
soaking up government money; it just means that my sister-in-law is
generous.) Can’t judge a book by its
shoes and we need to walk in each other’s covers, right? Something like that. (Which reminds me: I just heard of a service
being concluded by an earnest young priest who suffered from spoonerism; he had
the misfortune to make it through to the very end when he commenced: “The ass
is mended; go in peace.” Okay, admit you smiled… J)
To
wrap this up: I hope you, dear readers, won’t judge me too harshly. I am bound, at one time or another (if I haven't already) to tick somebody off or somehow offend their sensibilities. It's inevitable, especially as I am
starting out on this blog. I was so
afraid of offending anyone it took years to start this. Finally, I had to realize that I can’t avoid
offending someone at some point, but I could really mess up by not saying
something I was supposed to say. Stuck
between scylla and charybdis, I figured I might as well have fun, and do what I love:
writing for you.
Thanks
again for reading! At some point soon I
may have to disappear for a week, not because I lost interest (impossible) or
the name of my blog (somewhat more possible), nor that I was trampled on Black
Friday (hope not) as I attempt to acquire a laptop (don’t have one.) It’s just that I will have less access to a
computer (refer back to need for laptop), and will be out of state at my
in-laws for Thanksgiving. (Da da dum!) Tune in next time to see if I remain
thankful and non-judgmental while on family vacation and a holiday on the
road. If I can't post before, hope you all have a wonderful
Thanksgiving where you can bask in God’s innumerable blessings. -TLC
“Judge
not, and you shall not be judged. Condemn not, and you shall not be condemned.
Forgive, and you shall be forgiven. Give, and it shall be given to you: good
measure and pressed down and shaken together and running over shall they give
into your bosom.” Lk. 6:37-38
(Side
note: Yes, the Douay-Rheims translation states the word “bosom.” I’m sorry, it’s just there. Probably referring to the heart or the core
of the person, or, as in Barnes' Notes on the Bible,
“The word ‘bosom’ here has reference to a custom among Oriental nations
of making the bosom or front part of their garments large, so that articles
could be carried in them, answering the purpose of our pockets. Compare Exodus 4:6-7; Proverbs 6:27; Ruth 3:15.” This reminds me of an upcoming post I’m
doing about this blog’s name, which I tried to make unique enough so that
I, at least, wouldn’t forget it.)
Love love love-- love your writing!
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