I am a bad mom. I am not the “oh honey” kind of mom. I am the “rub some dirt in it” kind of mom. I can’t handle loud noises. I don’t know what I am doing. I will never get it right. They, without a doubt, would have been better off with a different, less bipolar, mommy. This is 100% the way I feel. Every day I wish I had not passed on my crazy gene. But here I am, struggling through everyday, messing it up as I go. Making it less likely that they will ever become parents, because they “will never be like me”. And I hate it. It eats at me. I can’t change the way I am anymore than I can change the way people react to the way I am.
I had a dream of the type of mom I wanted to be, as I am sure we all did. But that dream went out the window when I decided to have a 3rd and work. Add to that working management and being diagnosed with bipolar type 2, and you have the perfect storm for mother of the year. I want to do cute workbooks, homeschooling, family trips without yelling and screaming, shit….a meal without screaming. But it is too late. I have single handedly ruined 3 perfect little babies by making them cynical, rude little people.
I don’t regret having them in my life. I regret bringing me into their lives. I love them very much. Although I am sure it is hard to tell by listening to me. Maybe it is the mental illness talking, or the bad day of yelling at them, or the stupid pandemic that keeps us at eachother all day every day until the end of freaking time! But today I wish that they had a soft mommy. One that tucked them in, where their rooms were clean and their hair was brushed. Where their retainer wasn’t stepped on today, and the livingroom wasn’t trashed again. Where they fell asleep knowing it was a good day, instead of being upset that they disappointed me because it was day 3 of room cleaning and it is still only half done.
Super Cori 