I am a Bad Mother

I have a friend. She’s a new friend, but I like her. She uses big words and writes poetry, which intimidates me, so in my book she’s a smart lady. She told me today, “One piece of advice [about blogging] I got that is worth passing on is to just start one. Don’t linger and wait forever until your idea is perfect. Just start writing. It is an ever evolving work in progress.” So here I am. What now? What do I have to say that people will actually read? Beats the hell out of me.

I’m angry, sensitive, passionate, sensitive some more, crazy, shy and slightly (tongue planted firmly in cheek) left of center... this blog will probably be all over the place.

I’m angry. Why am I angry? I don’t know... shit pisses me off. I’m sensitive. Too sensitive. Everything makes me cry. This makes me angry. See how this works? I am passionate. I can’t do anything halfway. When I take an interest in something it consumes me. I can’t sleep at night because of it. This pisses me off. I’m crazy, I’m shy. I don’t even answer the phone because I might be expected to talk to someone. ::shudder:: That leaves left-of-center. I wasn’t always that way. I used to be happy with the status quo. I was raised in a pretty conservative family. Once I became a mom something happened. I gave myself permission to trust my instincts, which is no easy feat for a crazy/shy/sensitive chick, and when I did... the dam broke. My gut was SCREAMING at me that it feels wrong to let a baby cry himself to sleep. It feels wrong to put him to sleep in a room on the other side of the house. It feels wrong to spank someone I love and respect so deeply. It feels wrong to cut part of his body off at birth for no good reason. It all felt so unnatural. But this is what you do in our country, right? So I must be a Bad Mother.

I was a Bad Mother because I couldn’t follow the rules. I was failing my son. "Oh, there goes Jen again, she *has* to be different." ::eye roll:: I *am* different. I know that. I resent it. I have never fit in anywhere, including my own family. Lord knows I have tried my ass off. After my first son was a few months old I finally worked up the courage to say “fuck it.” We’re doing this my way. I gave myself permission to be a Bad Mother and embraced it. My gut won. I am a co-sleeping, baby wearing, cloth diapering, intactivist Bad Mother. Take it or leave it.

Wow. This was cathartic. Thank you for the nudge Kristin!

My loves