Motherhood can sometimes feel effortless. There are days when I believe I am nailing it—smooth weeks go by, and I nearly forget the challenging moments. Those are the times when I lost my patience, felt the need to apologize, or went to bed feeling heavy-hearted. During those serene stretches, I find it hard to relate to other mothers who talk about “failure.” Are they really concerned about making hot dogs for dinner while letting cartoons take over? What could be so severe as to merit that label? But then, without warning, I am reminded of what failure truly means.
Just today, for instance.
My preschooler awoke in a whiny mood, using that irritating voice reminiscent of a cartoon character. As usual, I snuggled up beside him for morning cuddles and kisses. This is the joy of being a stay-at-home mom. He suggested we engage in a playful gun fight, which I was eager to join. Unfortunately, I was not executing it correctly—my crouch was too high, and my sound effects were off. Despite my enthusiasm, he continued to complain. Frustration set in, and I prepared myself for a challenging day. I eventually told him I was done with the game and went downstairs to grab my coffee and my composure.
Throughout the day, I tried to remain calm, balancing validation of his feelings with a degree of emotional detachment. It’s vital to let him express his emotions without absorbing them myself. I offered the hugs and affection he craved but attempted not to let his despair affect my mood. I asked him why he was feeling down, acknowledging that everyone has tough days. Nevertheless, I began to unravel as the hours passed.
By 3 p.m., he was still whining. I had asked him to speak appropriately all day, yet I found myself exclaiming, “All you’re doing is whining! I’m sick of it!” I had aimed for warmth and control, but I was losing my grip. On top of his complaints, he called me “rude.” Everything had become rude lately (mostly my behavior), and I was at my wit’s end. He wanted to go to the store for a My Little Pony coloring book, and he kept insisting, “Right now!”
While loading the dishwasher, I snapped and slammed it shut, breaking a glass in the process. I heard the shatter and, in frustration, declared, “I need a break!” He cried out for me, reaching toward me and pleading, “Noooo!” I rushed back inside to clean up the mess but didn’t take a moment to regain my calm. Instead, I snapped at him to stay out of the kitchen due to the broken glass.
He approached, asking, “What broken glass?” In my irritation, I shook the bag that held the shattered pieces and growled, “This! This broken glass!” He retreated to the dining room and requested a hug. He sought reassurance that I still held love for him, but I was too consumed by my frustration. I replied, “Not right now,” and didn’t bother to soften my tone. I had the choice to stop what I was doing and comfort him, but I allowed my anger to take over. Did I want him to feel anxious? Or was I simply letting the chaotic side of me take control?
The anger bubbled up inside me, reminiscent of my postpartum days when I was sharp and irritable. Allowing that part of myself to surface feels like a choice I make in the heat of the moment, even when I have the chance to diffuse the situation. I preferred the immediate satisfaction of slamming the dishwasher to the effort it would take to calm down. I loathe that part of myself, as it leads to a painful low—much like an addict’s regret after a high.
Today, I felt ashamed for not being the mother my son deserves—the patient one who manages to keep her cool, the one who responds with gentleness when love is most needed. I regretted being a poor role model, knowing that my actions have significant consequences as my children are always observing me. I envisioned them growing up to express anger inappropriately, leading their partners to send them to therapy recounting tales of their “crazy mother.”
But my failures didn’t stop there.
While still recovering from my dishwasher-induced rage, I tried to force my son to eat a yogurt. He still wanted to go to the store for that coloring book, and I barked, “I’m not going anywhere until you eat that yogurt!” I was exhausted from the cycle of serving and being met with complaints about hunger just moments later. Those yogurts cost money, and I was determined to see that container emptied, even if it meant traumatizing him. I felt wrong yelling at him to eat, yet I persisted until he dragged himself to the table in compliance. Guilt washed over me as I observed this exchange from a distance.
I took him in my arms like a newborn and apologized for my behavior. His sweet response was, “It’s OK. I’m sorry for having a bad day too.” My heart broke as we discussed how being a family means loving and forgiving one another.
We needed to get out of the house, so I carried him in an Ergo carrier. Imagine that—my almost-4-year-old snug in a baby carrier. I craved closeness, wishing I could return him to a time before conflict. We trudged through the rain, and he rested his head on my back, whispering, “I love you” in my ear.
Now that he’s tucked into bed, I am gradually releasing the heaviness in my heart. Mistakes are part of the journey, but how we address them is what truly matters. My children need to understand this more than they need a flawless mother. While I may show them my imperfections, I can also teach them that mistakes can be opportunities for growth. Today wasn’t a failure if I learned something from it.
In conclusion
Motherhood is a journey filled with ups and downs. We may not always get it right, but what matters is our ability to learn from our mistakes and grow alongside our children. For more insights on parenting and home insemination, you can visit Make a Mom for helpful resources, including information on home insemination kits like the Cryobaby Home Intracervical Insemination Syringe Kit Combo. Additionally, for comprehensive guidance on pregnancy and related topics, the Women’s Health Resource is an excellent reference.
Keyphrase: Learning from Parenting Mistakes
Tags: [“home insemination kit”, “home insemination syringe”, “self insemination”]