Anne TootillTo Be or Not to Be a Mother - Part Three
January 4th 2007 18:46
The babysitter’s time was nearing an end and I was ready for her to move on. Don’t get me wrong. She was a really nice older woman who took amazing care of my niece and then Josh. Since I had been around a lot of the past year I was able to see how good she was with Josh. And with me. She made my lunches, sometimes emptied my spit pot (which in my opinion is akin to cleaning hospital bedpans and therefore should have earned her a medal).
But it was time for her to leave. She no longer had any interest in Josh and since she’d basically taken over care of Alex I had had very little time to bond with my infant. And I wanted to hold Alex and hug her. I’d suffered through two crappy pregnancies and to finally get the chance to hold and care for a baby that didn’t make me feel like a failure as a mother (even though I knew that Josh was colicky and I shouldn’t have taken it personally, still a part of me felt that if I had been more loving, if I’d done more or been a better mother he would have been calmer)…well I didn’t want to miss another minute of it.
A couple of days before the babysitter left, after she had watched me run after, engage, hug, play with, read to, sing with Josh, she pulled me aside and told me this. She told me that there was something wrong with Josh. That he was not normal and that one day he’d have problems/be a problem because of it.
No, the babysitter was not some crackpot psychic looking into her crystal ball and predicting Josh’s dim future. What she was, was a woman in her sixties who had been a foster parent for quite a few children and babysat a number more. I already knew from my sister (she had babysat my niece for many years while my sister worked) that this woman had taken care of a lot of babies and kids. I also knew that Josh was sucking the life out of me.
But then again he was a toddler whose mother had not been around for more than a third of his life and I was still a physical wreck from having been bedridden, vomiting and salivating for more than six months. I was tired and Josh was barely more than a baby. That had to be the reason. And even though something in the back of my mind said… maybe…I pushed that thought aside. Josh was my son. He was my baby. He needed his mother and I would be there for him.
From that moment on I hated that sweet older babysitter. I hated her with a vengeance. No one says what she said about my son. No one. I still couldn’t get myself to verbally confront her. I couldn’t do that with anyone, really. But I hardly spoke another word to her for the next two days. And when she left I closed the door and I cried. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I thought. And now I’d fix, what I knew in my heart, I’d screwed up.
]
But it was time for her to leave. She no longer had any interest in Josh and since she’d basically taken over care of Alex I had had very little time to bond with my infant. And I wanted to hold Alex and hug her. I’d suffered through two crappy pregnancies and to finally get the chance to hold and care for a baby that didn’t make me feel like a failure as a mother (even though I knew that Josh was colicky and I shouldn’t have taken it personally, still a part of me felt that if I had been more loving, if I’d done more or been a better mother he would have been calmer)…well I didn’t want to miss another minute of it.
A couple of days before the babysitter left, after she had watched me run after, engage, hug, play with, read to, sing with Josh, she pulled me aside and told me this. She told me that there was something wrong with Josh. That he was not normal and that one day he’d have problems/be a problem because of it.
No, the babysitter was not some crackpot psychic looking into her crystal ball and predicting Josh’s dim future. What she was, was a woman in her sixties who had been a foster parent for quite a few children and babysat a number more. I already knew from my sister (she had babysat my niece for many years while my sister worked) that this woman had taken care of a lot of babies and kids. I also knew that Josh was sucking the life out of me.
But then again he was a toddler whose mother had not been around for more than a third of his life and I was still a physical wreck from having been bedridden, vomiting and salivating for more than six months. I was tired and Josh was barely more than a baby. That had to be the reason. And even though something in the back of my mind said… maybe…I pushed that thought aside. Josh was my son. He was my baby. He needed his mother and I would be there for him.
From that moment on I hated that sweet older babysitter. I hated her with a vengeance. No one says what she said about my son. No one. I still couldn’t get myself to verbally confront her. I couldn’t do that with anyone, really. But I hardly spoke another word to her for the next two days. And when she left I closed the door and I cried. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I thought. And now I’d fix, what I knew in my heart, I’d screwed up.
]
| 43 |
| Vote |
Subscribe to this blog
