By Nici Holt Cline
There are moments when I feel like a bad mom. Like, last Friday when Ruby fell off our bed onto the hardwood floor. FOR THE THIRD TIME. What is wrong with me? What kind of mama lets that happen? Oh I felt so awful my stomach ached.
There is no doubt that the second child in our home is a bit more seasoned when it comes to bangs and pulls. Margot never had the, ahem, opportunity to have an older sibling tickle her too hard, run by her and knock her down or stomp on her face. But, I have to admit it holds true for Andy and me too. There is more juggling, more multi-tasking, less undivided attention for Ruby than there was when Margot was eight months old.
I feel the need to explain each circumstance, to confess. The first time Ruby fell. Andy had fallen asleep with her on the couch and I went to bed. He brought her in and sleepily handed her to me thinking I was awake and I wasn’t so we had a fumbled pass. The second time Ruby fell. The classic story of mom sets baby down and real quick turns her back and all of the sudden baby can roll like sushi.
The third time Ruby fell. She sleeps in this amazing swaddling gismo that we call her baby straightjacket. We all love this thing. Anyway, she Houdinied an arm out while napping and somehow wormed her way over the pillow barricade to the edge and right off. She landed on her forehead and the BOOM Andy I heard from our studio was nauseating. I swear I ran up our back steps six at a time.
I scooped her to me and held her frightened little body and I just felt awful. Guilt for it happening, selfish for being excited to have studio time when she fell asleep, neglectful because it wasn’t the first time, embarrassed about all of it. She nursed and I gave her a bath, applied lavender oil to her forehead. She was almost instantly comforted by me. The tears stopped and she smiled and cooed. That’s when my guilt and sadness twisted deeper…she loved me and looked to me like I saved her when really I was the irresponsible one who put her down for her nap on our bed.
Oh hell mamahood is amazingly complicated. When is it merited to be hard on yourself and when do you give yourself a break? I don’t have a map and my compass doesn’t always work. There is a lot I don’t know. I do know I know there will be more bumps and I will mess up again. I know I am trying like hell to be a good mom. I know that the ol’ saying third time’s a charm rings true over here. Right now my sweet potato is asleep in her crib. I know there’s always more to learn, ways to improve. Forgiving myself is hard and time is often the only element that can dilute guilt, the only element to encourage self-compassion. I know that I love my daughters to the moon and back and I know that can heal a heck of a lot of head bonks and whatever else comes our way. No matter whose fault it is.
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A fourth generation Montanan raising a fifth, Nici Holt Cline is a mama to Margot and Ruby, wife, gardener, crafter and runner who loves to write and take photos. She writes regularly on her popular blog dig this chick. You can read “Mama Digs” every Monday exclusively at www.mamalode.com. Read more of Nici’s mamalode articles here.
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Oh Nici, it’s so hard when the little ones get hurt. I know how bad it feels when you hear that thud. I think every honest parent has AT LEAST one ‘when the baby got dropped or fell’ story. We don’t tell them because we fear judgement. Hell, I’ve got a bunch! I’ve got 3 kids and a grandson. But don’t beat yourself up. It is a tricky line to walk, and we can’t keep them safe from everything. Even if we wanted to!
And of course she loves and trusts you! You came running, and comforted her immediately. That’s what a good mom does. She knows absolutely she can depend on you to be there.
Hang in there. It’s all okay.
Motherhood is like the Lewis & Clark expedition….Navigating unexplored territory & discovering a passage into the beautiful new world of parenthood. There are so many twists and turns around each bend…sometimes we realize we made a wrong turn and have to retrace our steps trying to choose more wisely the next time. With each new step we learn and we teach. In the end we end up with someone like you!
xoxo
The ranch that we lived on in Spain had a half dozen small, circular stone huts that workers had lived in a century plus before. These huts were simple stacked walls with one door and thatched, stick roofs, approximately 8 – 10 feet across. Imagining a warm fire inside, families huddled together, they evoked a certain simple charm. When I returned later as a mother, the huts took on a whole new presence. Haunched inside of them, I was reminded about the babies whose names were entered on the ranch chapel’s logs and understood how quickly and profoundly many a life was altered. As mothers whisked away for water for the hundredth time, or to quickly accomplish tasks made easier without an infant at their back, some babies and toddlers rolled into the fires or died from roof fires and smoke inhalation. The circumstances must have shaped how these people viewed and coped with death and injury. That being said, your story reminds me of how grateful I am to be here and now. We are all so fortunate! And your girls are luckier still to have a mom such as you.