The Chasm of Our Dining Table

Some days when I think about my parenting choices, this scene from Thelma and Louise plays over and over in my mind:


“Somethin’ real bad has happened…

And I can’t tell you what…

just that I did it…

And I can’t undo it…

will you help me… please?”

Attachment Parenting.  Where every day lasts forever and your sanity doesn’t matter.
Day Four of a 40-minute nap and Day 12 of a sinus infection.  I see a bright light.  I’m sprinting towards it.

I read how Kate Winslet left her 14-week-old baby back in England and went to LA.  She got caught in that earthquake while pumping her breastmilk.  Celebrity anecdote!

I left 1-year-old Farrah Star with a dear friend and within 30 minutes I got the phone call, complete with Farrah screaming in the background, that I’d better come back.  All I wanted to do was kill the ants that have taken over my kitchen pantry.

Stars.  They’re Just Like Us!

I did it…

And I can’t undo it…

will you help me… please?”

I need help.  Lord how I need help but Farrah can’t even manage 30 minutes with whom I can only refer to as her Madison Grandmother.  It doesn’t matter what happens to me – sick, sad, tired – no one else can do what I do (WHAT HAVE I DONE?) and I am sick and tired.  Forty minutes is a fucking joke, pardon me, it is not nearly long enough so I am about to lose my mind up in here.  Up in here.

Daddy is superb.  I had to go to the dentist today, the only place I cannot take Farrah, so Kris took off work for a couple of hours.  He left work so I could go to the dentist.  That’s nuts.  With my-husband-taking-off-work as our only form of childcare, I do not go to the doctor for a 12-day old sinus infection.  I do not recuperate.  I don’t do anything.

I did it…

And I can’t undo it…

While Daddy rocks it, someone knows where her bread is buttered and more exactly, from where the cream flows.  Here she is sitting across the dinner table from me while I try to eat a meal.


Our dining table is of average size.

Arlo: “Why does Farrah like Momma so much?”

Here she is six steps away from me with a bucket of kitchen utensils and FOUR light switches to play with while I repair a wall:


Health has to be a priority. Ants have to be killed. Meals have to be eaten. Walls have to repaired.


I did it…

And I can’t undo it…

I can’t undo it and wouldn’t if I could.  I know deep down, deeeeeep down, that I made the right choices for this family and it better say so on my goddamned tombstone.  Just kidding.  I want to be cremated and have my ashes turned into a tea for lactating hippies.

This is the part where I remind myself it’s all worth it, this is just a phase and too soon she’ll be four years’ old saying “You’re a Bad Guy!” for letting a snowflake fall on her pant leg and NOW.IT’S.ALL.WET.  It’s not all sobbing on the sofa or screaming loud enough so that the UPS guy FINALLY knocks on the door and acts as witness.  I remind myself that for every valley there are a dozen peaks and I am the only one with the permit to ascend.

Insert tender and happy moment here.

Now pass out.


2 thoughts on “The Chasm of Our Dining Table

  1. Pingback: Child-Scented Vapor | Black Panty Salvation

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