Good Enough

I'm a horrible mother.

That's the reason he died. God or the universe or the powers-that-be figured he'd be better off dead than have me as a mother.

On my worst days, that's my secret fear.

Today, the kids are insane - screaming, throwing things, hitting each other, instigating, taunting, no matter what I do or say, the minute I turn my back, they're at it again.

I have no patience right now. I had little to begin with, frankly.

All right, kids, you wanna hear screaming...?

Oh I can scream. I can scream until my voice is hoarse and my throat is sore. I can throw things, too. Their things, my things, anything.

I told you, I'm a horrible mother.

When I was studying for my psychology degree (yeah, I actually have one of those, believe it or not... you might not, on days like today) we read books in the field of infant and child psychology by a guy named Donald Winnicott. This guy had the idea that a mother was inevitably imperfect, but that she could be a "good enough mother" - someone who could generally do a "good enough" job that her child just might have a chance to grow up normally.

I hated that guy.

What a thought, that your child might grow up to say, "Well...my mother wasn't perfect. She wasn't great. But she was... 'good enough.'" Is that what we aspire to, as mothers? Being good enough? At the time, I was offended by the concept. (And funny, how Winnicott never developed a reciprocal 'good enough' father theory... it was all about the mommy, and whether or not she was good enough, and the implication was, of course, if she wasn't, her children's problems were all her fault... *ahem* but I digress...)

Doesn't every mother want to be perfect for her children? Of course we know we can't. I suppose Winnicott was trying to take a little of the pressure off. You don't have to be perfect, mama... you just have to be "good enough."

Does 'good enough' include screaming? Throwing things? Collapsing, sobbing, on the floor and telling your kids, "I can't do this anymore," and later having to explain, "No, I didn't mean I couldn't be your mommy anymore, I meant..."

I meant... something else.
I meant I can't breathe without hurting anymore.
I meant I can't go to sleep without thinking about my dead son.
I meant I can't wake up in the morning without seeing his lifeless face in my head.
I meant I can't go anywhere or do anything, including parenting, without realizing he's gone.

I meant all of those things and said none of them.

"I meant I just needed a break for a minute. A mommy time-out. Think mommy should get a time-out? Want to put me in time-out?"

A chorus: "Yeah!"

There's the solution to sibling discord, right there. Turn the kids against their parents.

My "time-out" involved whatever they wanted, so popcorn and a Disney movie later, my son turned to me and asked, quite earnestly, "Mom, how come we don't get popcorn in our time-outs?" and I had to laugh.

Sorry, Winnicott. I'm not "good enough" for these kids. I'll never be good enough, for these living children, for my dead one, for any of the souls of any more babies out there that might be waiting to come into my life. No one could possibly be "good enough" - and I'm not even going to try anymore. What a strange thought, a silly concept.

What I am is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, very, very human mother...

who loves her children, very very much.