Mommy Fail No. 1

I keep a secret "see me in hell" list upon which Smug Mummies (heretofore "SMs") place in at least one of the top five spots, depending on my mood. Oof, but I hate those SMs. Even when in a moment of rare honesty I have to admit to myself that I actually agree with what they're saying, or can maaaaaybe see what they might be driving at, it's how they say it that makes me want to beat them with their own copy of Dr. Sears's Baby Book. 

"We've never had problems like that here. I'm glad I did my research beforehand."

"My heart just breaks for the poor babies whose parents let them cry."

"I haven't slept more than two hours straight in sixteen years, but I don't mind. I always knew that motherhood required sacrifices." 

*muffled shriek*

But now...in keeping with the whole honesty thing I'm trying to go with here lately...it doesn't seem so wild and crazy that parents can get verrrry cozily comfortable in their ideas of what good parenting is when things are going well (at the very least, in their own minds - the rest of us can continue to shoot venomous looks when their pweshuses channel hooligan guerillas in the middle of JFK). My Piglet isn't really old enough to reflect good or bad parenting back at me yet, or so I've convinced myself. She's...small. And so, kind of a blob, if you will. We cuddle on the couch, nurse, sometimes get on the ground with her playmat, sometimes swing in the baby swing when mummy needs a minute to herself, and sometimes walk around the house and point out things ("Dog! Cat! Christmas tree! Mirror baby!") and then Discuss. But other than that, she doesn't have particularly fearsome needs. I'd lulled myself into thinking that this wasn't all that bad and that I wasn't botching it all up too badly.

And then yesterday. Piglet had her first set of vaccinations...which in and of themselves weren't a huge issue. She shrieked through them, but I think those were more shrieks of rage at being ignominiously stripped nekkid, examined and restrained by these odd people in white coats. Our bright idea was that, since Josh was taking part of the morning to go to the doctor's with us, we'd rent a car and do some shopping for the rest of the day. And oh! Let's see some apartments in Hoboken, where we're thinking of moving. 

I'm not going to go into detail about the horrors of the day, mostly because I don't want to read back over this blog and feel sick to my stomach every time. But suffice to say that a long day of being carted around, interrupted naps, pain in her thighs at the injection sites, and less-than-predictable feedings that occurred in the backseat of a car had a not-so-soothing effect on my sweet girl. I tried to downplay some of the fussiness as just business as usual, until the complete meltdown at 3pm. 

I will always remember holding my baby and just crying from guilt and fear because she was inconsolable; sitting next to her and not being able to comfort her through her screams (with real tears and everything) because we were in a BARELY moving car (#&#@^*$ing Holland Tunnel!) and I was too scared to take her out of her car seat. It all ended with a stupid fight with my husband, which cut our shopping trip short (or rather, nonexistant) and a horrifying hour-plus ride home where she wailed and cried the whole way. I can't believe I was so incredibly stupid as to think a day-long excursion after her first set of shots was a good idea?!?!

Now, with her chubby little body laying against mine for the last few hours, I still don't quite have enough perspective to write it off as one of those days. My induction into the world of mommy guilt is complete: I realize now that no matter what little tragedies befall us, I will always blame myself. And that doesn't even feel irrational. She's the most precious thing I will ever be given; how can every misstep, every miscalculation, every minute mistake not be magnified into an epic parenting fail that will replay over and over again in my mind?