I think I have figured out the reason I have been putting off finishing the story of Jackson's arm. Apart from the usual piles of laundry and dishes and other chores that keep me from writing (all real reasons that often keep me from prompt posting), there's an emotional reason for my procrastination. Simply put, finishing the telling of Jackson trip to the hospital feels like letting go of the guilt I'm carrying around and putting the matter behind me. And I guess I'm just not quite ready to let it go. I don't mean to sound dramatic. And I don't mean to give the impression that I'm moping around constantly beating myself up about the experience. But I have been holding on to some guilt. I feel guilty. I know there will be some people who are chuckling or rolling their eyes. They will be thinking I have a flair for the dramatic and it's high time I just let this go. Well, I'm trying. But it's hard. Try and imagine what it's like to actively cause harm to your child. Not he gets hurt while you're busy with something else and not paying enough attention. But you actually cause the harm, the tears, the pain. It really really sucks. I feel like I should have been better than this. I feel like this is a permanent blemish on my mommy scorecard.

And I guess that's where we land. The blemish on my scorecard. I feel like there's a big fat F somewhere on my permanent record. On my first year report card I certainly didn't get all A's but I feel that at least I made A's, B's and C's (Ok, maybe there were a few D's thrown in at the beginning, but it was really tough at first). But now, early in the second year, I send my kid to the hospital and earn a big fat F for failing to lift him safely out of his wagon.

Certainly I am affected by how I think people perceive me and my big fat F. I would be lying and no one would believe me anyway if I said that I don't care what others think about my parenting. It would be a bunch of bull if I said that I don't imagine people leering or snickering about my mommy blemish when I'm not around. If I said I don't worry about coming up short when compared to other moms I know then I would be... well...full of crap.

But all that worry and fear about what others think only becomes a big deal because of my own personal insecurities. The way that F makes me feel is the real thing, the thing that comes first. And right now that blemish on my report card still makes me feel pretty bad. Hopefully by next semester the sting of this poor grade will fade. Hopefully I will be able to chuckle about how big this seemed when it happened and how it seemed like I would never get back on the honor role. And hopefully next year when I look back at this and chuckle I will be doing so standing on top of a whole bunch of mommy A's.
I never thought I would hear myself say, "We don't put milk in the toilet."
It's a stool, it's a boat...
"I need this toy and my milk cup. And how am I going to pick up that ring?"
Happy Hippy baby