On a day-to-day basis, I miss my mom. I think to text or call her, like, ALL the time. But some days, I really, REALLY miss my mom.
Today is one of those days. I want to talk to my mom about how much I have ended up needing my kids' approval. And how I will never have it from Maggie.
I will always be a disappointment to her. I will never impress her.
It is what it is.
And I know that it's too much to ask it of her. She's not my therapist or my mother. She's my child.
And I know my mom would understand my needing Maggie's approval anyway because I know that she spent the last half of her life desperately hoping that her children approved of her parenting choices.
When Antonio was a toddler, she was carrying him, and she tripped on her flip-flop on the way to the car and she fell down and took him with her. He might have bonked his head, and he was quite upset. I was startled but not especially worried. My mom stood up as I was picking a crying Antonio up and the look of abject terror in her eyes when she apologized to me was heartbreaking. She was so incredibly scared that I would be angry with her for that little accident, for hurting my baby. I was not the least upset with her. Things happen. But god, the horrible fear in her frantic eyes will stay with me forever.
My mom was a better mother than I could ever have been. And yet, she was afraid of my opinion of her. I told her she was ever so much better than me, but she didn't believe me. She somehow believed my half-assed, impatient, inadequate bullshit was somehow better than her effortless motherliness.
I never should have had children.
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