Yesterday evening my 11 year old says to me, “So, mommy? Is it okay for me to just call you Mom from now on?”
Inside, a large part of me died. Right then.
First, there was the acknowledgement of the Santa issue…
Now this?? 😳
I said that it was okay to just call me Mom, even though I was a volcano of emotion inside. Then, I asked why..
She said that at lunch, some times she just sits and listens to the conversation around her. And often times she hears kids getting picked on and ripped apart when they call Mom ‘mommy’ , being told that only babies use that term.
I told her that it’s completely okay to call me Mom.
And then I went and cried in a corner.
She’s growing up faster than I can handle. And the fact that any chance of ever giving her a sibling is long gone, has me in the pits of depression.
When I see drug-dependent women popping out kids left and right with no regard to their well-being, I wonder what it is that I did so wrong to make it so that here I am.. almost 45 and unable to have another?
It makes me hate life, hate myself.
But I keep plugging on. For him. For her. For my mom…
All the while feeling like an empty sack of crap. 😦
Why did I have to be the broken one? Had I been able to birth another, there’s no way in a million years I’d ever be unfit to be a mom.