Last week just about killed me.
The whole New York Times article about mommy bloggers and how the title implied that we ignore our children to blog (which I didn’t think was a bad thing), and why was it in the Style section as opposed to the business section (duh. So that I’d read it). And the smart discussions surrounding it that I had to skirt because I didn’t want to admit that I only skimmed the article looking for names of bloggers I knew, because what kind of a blogger admits that she’s just not that interested in articles about blogging.
And then there was the hate letter that Her Bad Mother posted on her blog, a letter that was so hateful and shocking that I was surprised that it was literate.
It was chilling and it made me feel like I don’t want to do this anymore.
Not because I’ve ever gotten an email like that, but because I remember how Jodi Foster responded whenever a reporter asked her about John Hinckley. I don’t have to link to Wikipedia now, do I? Because I already feel ancient. But if someone asked Jodi about Hinckley, she’d just leave. No comment, which is different from ‘no comment’, she’d just walk out. And when I started blogging, and when this blog evolved into a humor blog, I wanted to keep it light, to blog about the lighter, funnier side of motherhood. The self-depricating, “oh, those kids, when will they go to sleep” type of stories.
But there’s more and I don’t know how to do that.
Because when we really start talking about motherhood, I want to leave the discussion. Because it’s too intense. And too painful.
I don’t know how to tell you that yesterday morning as I watched my kids at karate I wondered how did they become so grown up. They’re children still, but they’re cusping. Not the I HATE YOUs of toddler-tantrum, but the pre-teen understanding of their parents’ frailties and it kills me. I don’t know how to tell you that I missed the babiness of them so much that it made me bitter to think of the mother I’d been, wishing them to go to sleep, shut the hell up, and leave me alone. Yes, all parents do that, but I’m at that horrible moment now when I see too clearly that every day that passes is one less day that I will have with them and it’s breaking my heart .
I’m sure that this is just a phase. I hope that it passes soon.
And now I’m off to enjoy the day with them, while they’ll still have me.