I don’t wanna be a mom anymore.
I just spent the last 15 minutes holding my 7-year-old tough guy in my lap, rocking him, and assuring him that “it’s gonna be alright.”
I know this sounds like typical mom behavior, and not something so earth-shattering that I should want to abandon motherhood in the face of it… but it was awful. Gut-wrenching. Heartbreaking.
I’m not even sure what the problem was… what had upset Damon so much. It had something to do with his neighborhood friends Matt and Jason. The boys came over this afternoon, at 12 o’clock on the DOT, like they do every day. And at some point Matt left (and went home presumably), which didn’t surprise me because the brothers usually take turns coming over here because they don’t get along very well…
So, Damon and Jason were in the living room playing a video game when they saw Matt walk past outside. He was just walking down the road in front of our house, so they ran out to see what was going on with him.
About 10 minutes later, I peeked outside to see what they were up to… and found Matt sitting in the middle of the road in front of my house (weird kid), Jason sitting in the yard staring at the ground, and Damon leaned up against our porch trying to hold back tears.
So, I told Damon to come in and talk to me (and had to shut the door in Jason’s face because the kid doesn’t understand that when I say “Damon,” I mean DAMON, not “DamonandJason,” grrrrr). I brought Damon into my room, away from the brothers’ ears, and asked him what had happened. Of course, I got a typical Damonesque response that made absolutely no sense and left me none the wiser… but, regardless, I could tell he was upset. He was trying so hard NOT to cry… to be the tough guy that he’s figured out he’s “supposed” to be (grrrrr again).
At this point, I didn’t care what was wrong or what had happened or who had said what to whom… my baby was hurt (emotionally) and breaking down whether he wanted to or not. I sat down on my bed, pulled Damon into my lap, wrapped a blanket around him… and rocked. And “shhhhh, it’s okay”ed. And just held him and comforted him because that’s what he needed at that moment and I couldn’t do anything else.
When I ushered Damon into the house, he resisted. When I pulled him back to my room, he resisted. When I asked him to tell me what had happened, he resisted. When I patted the bed and told him to come sit next to me, he resisted. When he felt tears welling up, he resisted.
But when I wrapped him up in my blanket and in my arms, he quit resisting. He grabbed ahold of me and, in an instant, I felt the resistance disappear. And, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he accepted my comfort. My little boy turned back into my little boy… he held onto me for dear life and he wept.
And then I wept.
And now I’ve decided I don’t want to be a mom anymore.
I have a hard enough time feeling and dealing with my own emotions… how in the Hell am I supposed to be strong enough to support two little people through life? Knowing like I do that it’s only going to get harder and harder for them; their hearts are going to break… a lot.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Damon and Avery will make it through life’s ups and downs and come out stronger as a result. The real question is: Will their poor basketcase of a mother live through THEIR inevitable disappointments and broken hearts??
Why doesn’t anyone tell you about this stuff before you have children? Diapers and bottles and sleep deprivation and potty-training? That stuff is a walk in the park compared with comforting a broken-hearted 7-year-old. And now that I know that, I’ve changed my mind…