I've Sunk to a New Motherhood Low, and it's Confession Time

Do you ever feel like this?

 

Or maybe a better question is, do you ever not feel like this?

We each have our own unique set of plates we’re spinning, but we can all relate to the feeling of teetering on the edge, trying to keep all the plates airborne.

I have a confession to make.  I dropped a plate.  A big one.

I completely forgot to pick up my two year old from preschool yesterday. 

Totally.  Forgot.   

And I wasn’t even doing anything important.  I was pulling weeds in the yard and watering plants.

I really have no idea what happened, except that my brain hit a glitch, as a result of old age or old fashioned exhaustion.

When the school called at 2:15 wondering where I was, the reality of what I’d done was too much for me to handle, so I sputtered out an excuse about how my driveway had been blocked, and that’s why I was late.

So, I forgot to pick up my kid, and then I lied about it.

I lied.

I apologized profusely to the school secretary and promised I’d be there in ten minutes.  As I jumped in the car and frantically raced to school, I suffered all of the following:  shock, self-loathing, anger (at myself), fear (what’s wrong with me??), disgust and desperation.

I am not a person who does things like this.  In case you don’t know me, I’m not a flake.  I am many things, and certainly not perfect, but, by God, I am reliable.

If I say I’m going to be somewhere at a certain time, I am there.  Usually five minutes early.  I once had a boss write on my performance review that I am the Canadian Mountie of employees.  I always deliver.

Until now.

I can make lots of excuses about why this happened: old age, stressed out, overscheduled, forgot what day it was, etc.

But the reality is…I messed up.  I made a mistake.

Luckily, Baby Boy was at a safe place, and he was completely happy to have a few extra minutes to play.  He was no worse for the wear.

I, on the other hand, was, and still am, a complete wreck.  I didn’t know if I could even tell anyone what I’d done.  But the Catholic in me knew I had to confess. 

First stop: a good friend who’s known me for 25 years.  Her reaction?  Laughter.  That’s right, she laughed at me.  She said, “Jen, I think this is good for you.  You’re someone who always has her t’s crossed and i’s dotted, and it’s good for you to let something slip through the cracks and see that it’s not the end of the world.”

Whoa!

Maybe she’s right?  I started to cut myself a little slack.

But no, that nagging sensation to flog myself continued, so I decided to go for Confession #2.  And where did I go?  Scary Mommy.  Because some of those people are confessing crazy shit that my brain can’t even comprehend, so I knew I’d feel better comparing myself to the seriously disturbed masses. 

 

And look, I got 4 “likes,” 78 “hugs,” and 4 “OMG, me too!”  For some reason, those 78 hugs from the mentally deranged didn’t do the trick for me, so I decided to confess to Husband.  His response?  “Don’t feel bad, I’m sure I’d do that too, if I was in charge of the kids.”  Well, duh.  That doesn’t help me.

After confiding in a couple more friends and hearing their stories of being forgotten by their own mothers as a kid, I’m starting to feel much better.  And maybe my friend is right.  Maybe this is good for me to see that I can “drop a plate” and the world will not fall off its axis. 

I am not perfect, and the world will forgive me for that.

But the confession process won’t be complete until I hit “Publish” on this post.  And if even one tired, crazed and overworked mom who’s done the same thing reads this and feels better, it’s worth it.  And I know I will feel better.

So, here goes nothing.

Now pass the wine and the king-sized Kit-Kat bar, and I’ll retire to my Happy Place for the night. 

Have you ever forgotten to do something really important?  If so, please make me feel better and tell me about it.  If not, just move along quietly back to your perfect life.