Broken hearts and guilt...

There is nothing worse than watching your son's heart break when leaving for work. As if i did't feel guilty enough, this morning, my son plastered his teary, snotty face to the bay window in hopes that I would get a last glimpse of his tortured soul, turn my car around, run inside and save him from the perils of daycare.

As I drove away, all I could think about was what if he figured out a way to open the window and jump from our first floor balcony desperately chasing after his mother. Yes, its a paranoid thought but then again I havent slept in 3 years, I am entiltled to be paranoid. So I thought about maybe calling "papa" (who was in the shower when I left) to reassure myself that my son was indeed in one piece.

Yet, as I reached the end of my street, I came to my senses. Luca was okay and he would survive the day at daycare. He would play with his little friends and forget all about missing his mommie. I would pick him up in the evening and he would tell me all about the excitement of his day. And even though this was almost always case, I still felt a twinge of motherly guilt for leaving my baby behind and going to work.

But I have to go to work. I have to have some sanity and feel like a part of the adult world. I am so sorry for my son but I have to think in the long run its better for him. If mommie is happy then hopefully it will make him happy. And for me there is nothing more valuable in teh world than to see my babies happy.

Trapped like mice

Bright and early this morning we were trapped in an elevator on the way up to the daycare. Trapped, all alone with two rugrats trying to press all the buttons and I had no phone on me. It was like being in a metal box with two little mice trying to pry the doors open. As I was peeling Charly's fingers off the "Open Door" button, I noticed a bright red "Ventilation" knob. That's when panic set in. Ventilation, how long do they expect us to be trapped in here? And why do we need ventilation, does the air suddenly get sucked out of the small enclosed metal prison. Yes, thats what I felt like, I was in prison. And I am in prison with two very impatient little people.

Luckily, we were only in there for maybe 10 minutes, but the experience made me really start thinking about my responsibilities of a parent. I guess I have always taken it for granted that when faced with a crisis situation my maternal-protect-my-kiddies-mode would kick in. But during the "Elevator Incident" I was overtaken by panic. I wasn't thinking about how to protect my precious babies or to stay calm for their benefit. No I flipped my lid. I panicked with a capital P. I was not the cool, collected parent I should have been. I was a scared little girl trapped in an elevator with two two potential time-bombs.

Questions, questions, questions...running through my head like a hamster on a wheel. Over and over I keep thinking about how I would protect my babies and what happens when something more serious happens? Am I going to lose it again? You never hear about mothers who panic or lose it. Mothers always protect and stay calm. Motherly instincts take over. So what happened to me and how can I fix it? Does this mean I am a bad mother?

Big question, where WERE my motherly instincts. Maybe they were still sleeping, or maybe I dont have very strong ones. Or maybe they have disappeared all together. I can't figure it out and since you never hear about other mothers losing their motherly instincts or panicking in situations, I guess I will might not ever figure it out...