This morning was awful.
Despite the fact that he has the whole day off, Todd had a PT appointment at 7 this morning. In the rush to get everything put back together from the weekend's home-improvement binge, last night we skipped our routine of assembling everything for the next morning. The end result was an early-morning scramble to get cups, blankets, clothing, and lunches together. The whole time, Micah was whining constantly and throwing a tantrum at every turn. And at some point after Todd left, between hunting for a clean crib sheet and trying to bundle everything into the car while Micah wailed and tantrumed in the background, I hit the end of my rope.
The scene that followed with Micah was not pretty. I think I'll keep the shameful details to myself, but it ended with both of us huddled together on the floor of the bedroom, sobbing our hearts out on each other's shoulders.
The whole drive in to the daycare and the office, I just felt smaller and smaller and smaller. I remember the look in his eyes, the tiny hiccupping sobs shaking his little body while he pushed away from me in fear, and oh, I want to crawl into a hole. The guilt is crushing - I think my heart might just shatter under it.
For the life of me, I can't figure out WHY it was so important to be out of the door on time. I mean, compared to my CHILD, my job runs a distant 158th on the priority scale. So how did I forget that? It would have taken me an extra 15 minutes to, oh I don't know, BE A PARENT. Surely he's worth that? I can't decide if I'm more upset that I lost my temper, or that (in the moment) I felt like getting to work by 8 AM justified it.
He was fine when we got to the daycare. And when I snuck back in to see him at 10, he was thrilled. I stayed as long as I could, playing with him, holding him, tickling him and listening to his laugh. He, at least, has forgiven me. It may be a while before I can do the same, though.
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