Little Guy

Once again at the doctor's office, my physician almost smirked when I said I was staying home to care for my one-year-old son, rather than returning to work. (Or I should say, rather than finding a job.) As I mentioned in a previous post, the first time he asked about this and I said I planned to be a stay-at-home mom for at least another year, he smiled and said, "Oh, fine. And just remember: when you change your mind about that, it's okay." This time he just smiled; but the expression in his eyes made it obvious that he was thinking, "You'll change your mind soon enough."

This rankled a bit; on the other hand, he seems to understand just how tough it is to care for an active toddler full-time. I just wish his understanding were a little less sarcastic.

Be that as it may...something else happened that made me feel, well, even more unqualified to be a mother than I already do.

It was just one brief moment during a walk at the beach with my son and husband. We were heading quickly back to the car; I was fretting the whole way about how cold my little guy must have been, because a cold seaside wind was blasting into his face. My noble husband (noble because he's suffering from a wrist injury) picked up the baby from his stroller and carried him the last several blocks, just to make sure he stayed relatively warm. And then the moment, right before we reached the car.

I was about thirty feet behind them, pushing the stroller across a busy intersection; my husband was moving quickly to get our son back into the warm car. I watched this little person bouncing against my husband's shoulder, staring back at me so innocently, so watchfully; and I thought: "I'm just not qualified. He's so fragile, so helpless. I don't have even thirty percent of what it takes to be a good mother." I fell more in love and despair than ever.

And he continued to watch.