I drive away to class while he’s begging for me to take him in my arms and stay with him.
I hold him down while he screams so someone can torture him with medical adhesive or blood drawing syringes.
I place out of his reach really interesting toys like sharp knives and broken glass.
I make him put away the cart after he’s run with it around in the store for 10 minutes after I’m done shopping.
I fail to make the water fountain not be turned off for winter.
I tell him he cannot have a third green banana.
I don’t make the world soft and bouncy and have rounded corners, and I allow him to get hurt, and sometimes it leaves scars.
I yell at him for no reason other than I am having a hard day.
There is no real point to this post, just a catalogue of some of the ways I fail in my child’s eyes. No matter how consensually we try to live, I cannot and will not let him have his way every time. Sometimes he gets hurt, and I can’t instantly make it better. Sometimes I am just cruel because I cannot cope any longer. It breaks my heart — a phrase I did not truly understand until having him — every time and yet I would not deny him all hurts even if I could. It would deny him the ability to empathize, deny him the ability to sympathize, deny him any chance to grow, deny him the experience of life. I will never willingly inflict pain on him for no purpose other than to suffer, but I cannot entirely regret that he will, sometimes outside of my control and sometimes with my collusion, know suffering.
There is not a banana that my son doesn’t want. I don’t get it.
I love this post. I’m glad we’re both mean moms. I can’t believe you let him run around with the cart, you are so NICE! I love going to Trader Joe’s because they have carts for little people.
I used to be a mean mom and make my son leave. Period. That in and of itself was cruel to him. I’ll never forget leaving the mall while giant pregnant and huffing and puffing, carrying him while I screamed bloody murder. I always regretted taking him to the mall, but I really needed to get out and let him run somewhere during the winter.
Oops. He was the one screaming while we left the mall. People looked to see who was killing their child.
Hey, I’ve had the days where I was the one screaming. ;)
I can’t say I love the title mean mom though. :p Though I am in his eyes mean sometimes, it’s never with malicious intent. I like to believe that teaching him that I have limits and feelings and preferences too is good for him. But oh, does it hurt when I make him cry, even when I know it’s necessary!
(It was a little cart, too. And he’s not very good with it yet… But at least I got some exercise! Hey, if exercise releases endorphins, why don’t I feel happy after chasing him down for 10 minutes?)
Yeah, there are certain moms that get pride from being “mean.” And that’s not the kind of person I want to be.
Good question about the endorphins. Stress hormones is probably more like it.