Today I learned that children’s ibuprofen can be too¬†effective.

The Bwun woke up feeling fine, but by early afternoon he was worn out and ready for a nap. When he woke up he was obviously miserable, and his fever was back. I gave him a chewable ibuprofen tablet while he wallowed on the couch.

Within an hour, he had returned to his normal self. In fact, he was desperate for attention. So was jr. And when I say “desperate” I mean that I considered sending him to his room for another nap because I couldn’t deal with his demands. I wanted to get some pictures of jr, so I had the camera out; the Bwun asked me to take pictures of him, too, but that quickly turned into him wanting to use the camera. He realized it was impossible for him to photograph himself, and gave the camera back to me. Then he wiggled and wiggled and wiggled.


He also has not stopped asking for another chocolate-caramel-macadamia cluster (I made a Costco run by myself today. Bad idea). Each time, I tell him we aren’t having any right now; he responds with an unconvincing “Hm?” as if to suggest that he didn’t quite hear what I said. Nice try, bud.



The Bwun got a fever yesterday morning and looked like he felt pretty miserable, so we tried to make it an easy day. It involved The Blanket, juice, and My Neighbor Totoro 2 or 3 times. It did not involve a blog post. Some days are like that! Maybe I’ll give you two posts today to make up for it. Or maybe I’ll just watch Totoro with the Bwun again.


Have you ever heard someone described as being “unfit to be a mother”? Usually it’s in reference to a woman who neglects her children, or murders them, or gives them tobacco instead of biter biscuits. (I don’t know about that last one; my list really needed three things on it.)

But I think it about myself a lot. Don’t get me wrong – in my opinion, I don’t neglect the Bwun and jr, and so far I’ve never given them tobacco, and I highly doubt I’ll ever murder them. My problem is that I got it in my head that a “good” mother is one who is endlessly patient, cheerful, energetic yet calming, and tidy. This is not true, right? I hope not. I’m not patient. I complain a lot. I bribed myself to get out of bed this morning (fresh donuts from the Creamery). And oh man, this house is not tidy. Not even close.

Most of all, I imagine that a “good” mother is inherently selfless and never tires of putting her own needs second.

Here is where I desperately hope I’m wrong. The other night jr woke up crying just as I was getting into bed and I’ll be honest, I really resented having to get up and feed her. I love jr dearly. She’s sweet and adorable and quirky. When I’m tired, she’s a little less sweet and a little more of ¬†burden. But I almost feel like you can’t say that about your kids. They’re “angels from heaven,” right? The Romgi’s grandma swears that all five of her kids were perfect babies who never cried, and she can’t understand that anyone would dislike having young children. Maybe the march of years since she was a young mother has helped glaze over the frustration of late nights and messy diapers.

You know what? Sometimes I resent that I can’t just go out to the grocery store with the Romgi to get some Ben & Jerry’s. Sometimes I resent that I don’t have any personal space. Sometimes I resent that jr has a sense that tells her when I’m about to go to sleep, and compels her to wake up screaming in a manner that makes it clear Only Mom will do. Sometimes I resent changing diaper upon diaper and feeling like that’s the extent of my contribution to society that day, that all my hard work has literally gone into the garbage can. (I should give the kids credit, too. They worked hard for those messy diapers as well.)

For me, the ideal mother has no resentment. She loves every minute of motherhood. As I type this it does sound ridiculous. Please agree that it’s ridiculous?

I feel conflicted because I do have moments of resentment, but I also adore my kids. The way I love them is incomprehensible. And so when jr starts crying just as I go to bed, or the Bwun tells his first lie (while I’ve been writing this, no less), I’m frustrated and annoyed and exhausted but I know that these are two of my favorite people in the universe. So then of course I feel guilty for not loving every minute of motherhood.

This is the part where you tell me that such feelings are normal. I won’t go so far as to ask you to validate me for being a good mother, but maybe just hint that I’m not unfit to be a mother.

P.S. I know, you want more pictures of the kids. Right now our regular camera is a little bit broken and our awesome one is tricky for kid pictures – they just want to hold it, so I get a lot of blurry shots of little hands in front of the lens and not much else. Sigh.