This may well be one of my most raw and honest posts to date.  Scratch that – I’m always honest.  But today I’m not holding back.

This evening represents a new low in my parenting experience so far.

6pm.  Bath-time.

I see pictures and read status updates on Facebook and hear stories from other families who enjoy bath-time with their children all the time.

I hate bath-time.

(Told you I was being honest).

It’s supposed to be fun – bubbles and splashing and giggles and playing.  Not in our house.  In our house it’s a battle to decide who is going to go in first (no-one wants to), a battle to get them to have a wash, a battle to try and shampoo their hair.  Then, when that particular trauma is over it’s a battle to get them out of the bath that they didn’t even want to get into in the first place, a battle to get them dry, a battle to get them to put their pyjamas on, a battle to get them to brush their teeth and a battle to try and detangle their hair.  Frankly, it’s exhausting (mentally and physically) and it usually ends up in a whole heap of shouting (on both sides) despite my best efforts to stay calm and talk quietly and explain why I would like them to do the things I’m asking them to do please.  We have tried everything we can think of to make it less stressful and more enjoyable, but to no avail.

Today I was attempting to get Mimi out of the bath.  She ignored me, every single time I asked.  I had already shouted earlier on (to no effect, of course) and was desperate not to do it again, so I asked her (one final time) to please stand up.

She carried on pretending to play the bongos.  Then she started singing (you’ll have to figure out the tune yourself – she made it up):

“Mummy is the angriest person in this house,

And Daddy shouts a lot too.

Mummy really, really hates me

Because I’m not a nice person”

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.  Hard.

I stopped what I was doing, checked that they were all safe and walked quietly out of the bathroom.  I sat down on my bed, put my head in my hands and sobbed.

Uncontrollably.

(And I rarely cry).

Instant silence from the bathroom, followed by urgent whispers.  “Why is Mummy crying?”, “What’s she feeling sad about?”, “Where has Mummy gone?”.

After several minutes I managed to compose myself and went calmly back into the bathroom to finish what I’d started.  All three girls regarded me nervously.  “I’ve never seen you cry before Mummy”.

A few seconds later Mimi ventured “Mummy, why are you crying?”.

I tried to explain that the words in the song she had been singing had made me feel sad because I love her (and her sisters) more than anything else in the world and I felt sad that she thought I hated her and that I was sorry that I seemed angry and shouted a lot.  I tried to explain that I felt like I wasn’t a very good Mummy.

“But I just want you to be happy Mummy”.

And she started singing a song about Mummy being happy instead of sad and forgot all about what had just happened.

I didn’t though.  I couldn’t.

The rest of the evening passed without mishap – they tidied up when I asked them to, got into bed when I asked them to, and we had some lovely cuddles while I was reading their bedtime story.

But nothing can shake the feeling I’ve got inside right now.  I can’t quite figure out what it is – I was hoping that writing this post might help me work it out.

Disappointment?  Yes – in myself for not being the kind of parent I wanted to be.

Sadness?  Yes – for Mimi, that she might continue to grow up holding onto that belief (that I hate her and that she’s not a nice person) despite every attempt by me to show her otherwise.

Guilt?  Yes – massively.

And a whole host of other feelings so big and uncomfortable and unfathomable that I don’t even know where to start.

I’m not looking for words of support or encouragement here – I don’t want you to tell me that I’m a really good Mum and that of course she doesn’t really think I hate her etc, etc…  I’m not looking for advice or guidance either.  I just had to get it out of my head while it was still fresh so that I could analyse it objectively instead of from the painful position of a squeezed heart.

I work as a therapist and I’ve lost count of the number of times a client has gone back to a memory from early childhood that led them to believe they aren’t good enough, or aren’t loved, or are worthless.  I’ve got plenty of similar memories myself.  I know exactly how much this kind of stuff affects them unconsciously, especially at the age that Mimi is now (5, nearly 6).

I also know it can be changed, and that is what is keeping me going right now.

Now that I’ve had a chance to reflect over the last couple of hours, I keep being drawn back to this blog post (http://findingjoy.net/what-moms-need-to-see/) that I read on my Facebook newsfeed this morning.  I shared it because it hit a nerve and because I knew that many of my friends needed to read it as much as I had needed to.  It generated quite a lot of discussion amongst my network of friends and colleagues and that has helped me to realise that I’m not alone.  That I’m human.  And that I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got.

I’m not a perfect parent.

I’m trying my hardest to be a positive, peaceful parent.

And I’m damn well going to make sure that all three of my girls know how much I love them, whatever it takes.

6 Comments for: Mummy, why are you crying?

Catherine

Dawn, I love that idea. I’m going to play it with my boys from now on.

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