Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Confessions of the compassion deprived

There is an excellent possibility I am a terrible mother.

When my kids throw up, I absolutely WILL NOT, under any circumstances, allow them to drink anything afterward. They may, carefully, swirl water around in their mouth and spit it out (to help rid them of the nasty puke taste) but they are never, ever permitted to swallow the liquid. In fact, they must be vomit free for at least 3 hours before I allow them to have anything to drink.

Last night my son really didn't like the egg rolls we were eating as part of our supper. He even gagged in his attempt to chew and swallow it. My response after he had finished throwing up? "Too bad, buddy. Go put in the next bite."

When one of them gets hurt because they are jumping off things or walking around with blankets over their faces or running full speed for no reason at all...I usually say something along these lines: "If you were watching what you were doing, you wouldn't get hurt all the time."

I have, on many occasions, bodily restrained my child in order to dig a splinter from their foot.

When Clay was little, he had a real problem swallowing things he didn't like (this is the same child who threw up last night after trying to swallow a bite of an egg roll) He would open his mouth for a bite (because he had been disciplined many times for refusing) but once the bite was in...there was no telling when it would leave his cheek and makes its way into his stomach. One day, after close to an hour of him holding a bite of a banana in his cheek, I'd had enough. So, I laid him down on his back, plugged his nose, and waited until he opened his mouth to breathe. Miraculously, as soon as he did, the offending banana slime slid down his throat.

I firmly believe that anything they can find to eat makes an acceptable breakfast. Potato salad, twizzlers, or a cup of coffee. Its a free for all. Anything goes.

I intentionally exposed my oldest two children to the chicken pox. (This was back when the vaccine for it was new, and I was nervous that it wasn't as good as actually having the pox themselves)

It doesn't bother me a bit that my kids stay in their pajamas and don't brush their hair all day. Or that they go in public that way. I encourage it, in fact. I am living vicariously through them in that regard.

I have said to my sons, many times, "Be tough. You're men."

I have said to my daughter, many times, "Suck it up. You're a tough southern girl."

The thing is, its not that I don't love my kids...I love them like crazy. I think they are hilarious, and smart, and beautiful, and the most overwhelmingly amazing blessing in my life.

Its just that I have a minor compassion deficiency. If there is no blood...then they are probably okay. Even if there is blood...if its not a lot, they are probably gonna live.

I'm not really sure why these things make me a bad mom...I'm just pretty sure most people judge me for them.

But...my kids are tough, and independent, and fearless, and fantastic...and my lack of compassion hasn't seemed to injure them too badly. Yet.

There is no point whatsoever to this blog post.

But there is a shelf to display my "Bad Mom" awards. I have a lot of them.

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