I’m sorry for all of my failings as a mother. Here they are in no particular order:
I’m sorry for dressing you in an outfit your dad said looked like “something a seal would wear in the 1920s.” (See above.)
I’m sorry that when I ask, “What do you want to do now?” I secretly hope you say, “Watch TV.”
I’m sorry for giving you a name that no one will be able to spell.
I’m sorry for skipping my prenatal vitamins that one time. Okay, two times. OKAY ALL OF THE TIMES.
(And I’m sorry for eating pizza from a bodega with a B+ health score.)
I’m sorry that it took me more than an hour to decide what to wear, but I got frustrated when you cried about the dress I picked out for you.
I’m sorry for telling you none of the toys in Target are actually for sale.
I’m sorry for letting you watch House of Cards when you were three days old.
I’m sorry for making you stand in the snow so I could get a picture of you crying.
I’m sorry that it took me five whole minutes to understand which episode of Sofia the First you wanted to watch.
I’m sorry for making fun of the way you say “banana” on the internet.
I’m sorry for buying you the book with beautiful watercolor illustrations instead of the one with flaps that you actually wanted.
I’m sorry that I let you watch the “Shake it Off” video; thus kickstarting society’s narrative that you should aspire to be thin and pretty.
I’m sorry that I turned off the “Shake it Off” video and you cried.
What about you? What are you sorry for? How have you failed as a mother today?
2 comments
I’m sorry we so often talk to you (my stepdaughter, age 7) about healthy ingredients and nutritional facts and women’s rights and the woes of restrictive gender stereotyping when you’d rather we just exchange knock knock jokes.
And, I’m sorry, dear male fetus, that I already “fed” you so many stress hormones in utero because I was worried/resentful that your dad and I don’t have enough time and energy for you because we focus so much on our jobs and my stepdaughter.