I sometimes wonder if I'm cut out for this mommy thing; don't get me wrong...I love my girls.  However, there are days when I think I just suck at being a mother.

I never wanted kids; I was firmly convinced that I didn't need to be a parent to feel "happy" or "fulfilled", and I know plenty of childless people who are very content with their lives.  However, I was pretty much talked into the first and thought, well, I can handle one.  Truth be known, I almost didn't; the pregnancy was very hard, and I became very sick.  The strain was so hard on my system that I almost lost her at birth, and I came very close to dying from massive kidney and staph infections three weeks later.  The doctor told me no more; my body could not handle the stress of pregnancy.  That suited me just fine...one was more than enough for me.

Besides, I didn't know if I was going to survive this whole new parent thing.  I had my own battle with depression after she was born, and I was just absolutely hyper protective of this little girl.  I had made plans to return to work after she was born, thinking it would not phase me, but I couldn't do it.  I could not leave her with anyone else, and didn't for nearly two years.  Not only that, but something about my oldest caused a change in my mother; she morphed from candidate for worst mother in the world to super grandma, and she and my daughter formed a bond I have never been able to explain.  (My mother died shortly after my second child's first birthday; Isella doesn't even remember her.)

For some unknown reason, I was not permanently "fixed" after the first, although by rights I should have been.  I was given some explanation about wanting to wait until after I turned 30 (I was 27 when I had my first).  30 came and went, and so did 31.  By this time, I was sick of taking medication, and I decided it was time to get it done.  I went to the doctor at the end of January; he came back into the room and said he would be glad to do the procedure...in October.  I almost passed out.

Because of the problems with the first pregnancy, terminating the second pregnancy was discussed, but only very, very briefly.  There was no way I could do it.  So I was monitored very closely by specialists, but pregnancy #2 went off without a hitch, and along came my second daughter.  Since we already knew I was going to have a cesarean (I had an emergency one with the first), arrangements were made to ensure there were no more surprises.  (When I was on the table, the doctor asked me if I sure I wanted to have my tubes removed.  I told him for all I gave a shit he could take out the whole fucking thing and burn it.)

Now, 6 years later, I have two girls with two totally different personalities.  Eva (pronounced AVA, and she will let you know it) is my softie with  the big heart.  The girl does not know a stranger, and goes out of her way to include everyone.  She is also my more sensible and my more sensitive; I do have to be careful with how I say things, because everything is taken to heart.  Isella, on the other hand, is her mother, in spades, x 3.  She is overly confident and fearless, and she has no problem with tearing the world a new asshole as she sees fit.  To say she will be the one to give me a stroke is an understatement; I often say she is punishment for everything I have ever done wrong in my entire life...and there is plenty.

One would think I would have gotten at least a half a handle on this parenting thing by now, but I still struggle with it.  I am not an affectionate person by nature; it drives me nuts when casual friends or acquaintances want to hug me, or when people I'm not familiar with touch me.  But kids want to be loved; they want to be hugged and held and comforted, and I had to teach myself to relax and not withdraw when they wanted to cuddle up to me or climb on my lap.  I had to also learn to control what was once an extremely vicious temper, and to learn to measure my actions and reactions to fit the situation, and not just with them, but with other people...especially when they are around.

One of the biggest challenges I face daily, though, is to not let my past come through with them.  I blew up at Eva one day because she thought she was going to wear a pair of dirty pants to school when she had plenty of clean ones in her closet.  I told her no child of mine was walking out of this house without a bath and without clean clothes.  I was talking to my uncle about it later, and he asked me if the pants were really that dirty (they weren't), and if she had been clean and bathed at the time, and I said, yes.  He then asked me if the real reason I hadn't gotten so out of sorts is because I didn't want someone saying to her what had been said to me, and he was right.  When I was in third grade, I was living with my mother.  We never had money, because she was either drinking it all or snorting it, and I was lucky if there was shampoo in the house, let alonepointing out how filthy I was and how bad I stunk to the entire class.  She would stand me up in front of the other kids and tell them I was a perfect example of how not to take care of one's self.  She would tell me she wished I wouldn't bother wasting her time showing up to her class, because I would never be worth anything anyway.

No matter how hard you try to bury that kind of psychological trauma, it stays in your brain and picks the most inopportune times to pop out, and that's what happened that day.  I had to suck it up and apologize to my daughter, because I had severely overreaction to a minor situation, and while she still was not wearing dirty pants (no matter how only slightly dirty they were) to school, it did not warrant the temper snit she had experienced. 

I'm sure my learning curve is far from over; I am just entering the teenage years with the one,  and already the conversations are starting about friends and boys and school and boys and futures and boys; as for the other...she's already taken over her school, and she will either end up a politician, a lawyer or an actress, or some combination of all three.  But I think both girls have good heads on their shoulders, and in some ways, they are smarter than I am.  Even though I am far from perfect, I am trying, and that's the best I can do.

I have been told that the best validation of a parent's life is to have your child's life and accomplishments exceed those of your own, and I see nothing different for my two girls.  I am sure we will have bumps and setbacks and drama, but all in all, I know they are going to do well in life.

As a parent, I can ask for nothing more.

(I know you are all wondering what happened to the teacher...after the cops were finally called on my mother, and my grandparents were called to come get me, my grandmother showed up.  Somehow, she ended up at the school, and in the course of things, found out what had been said to me and about me.  By the time she was done, it was a wonder the school was left standing, and the teacher wasn't.)