I am human...

...not robot. I am human. I have to try and accept that. As a human, I make mistakes. Sometimes, the same mistake over and over and over again. Because...I am human. It's difficult to forgive. It's even more difficult to forgive yourself. I should be able to handle it by now, after dealing with it for 5 years, shouldn't I? But I can't. And it makes me feel like a terrible, terrible mother.

Yes, I'm talking about the always present, always awful, nr 2 accidents. I just can't take it. I never could, I still can't. And there's nothing, no one can do for me or for my poor daughter. This is life, and sometimes life is difficult. Some days we can forget about it and act as if we're just a normal happy mom&daughter who has never fought, never yelled, never cried. But in truth...we're not. I've yelled and screamed more than the average mommy. I've cried more tears than I thought I had in me, even over the course of 5 years. Sometimes I've rebelled and ignored the problem. Sometimes I've went all out and tried to find causes and solutions and cures. Sometimes I've blamed her. Yes, big mommy-of-the-year-reward for me. I've blamed my daughter for a medical condition she cannot control and certainly didn't ask for. Sometimes I've walked away from her. Because choosing at that moment to deal with my anger away from her was the better option. Sometimes, I was unable to walk away.

Tonight....tonight wasn't a good night. It's been building and building. For months and months there's just been accident after accident and I just blew it tonight. Because I've been in preterm labour having contractions for weeks and weeks now and I'm tired. So very very tired. Tired of timing contractions. Tired of worrying wether I'll have to deal with another NICU baby. Tired of wondering why things is going wrong again. Does this baby have whatever his/her sister has? Because the pregnancy is threatening to end like hers. Tonight, I blew it. And I feel terrible. Of course. Awful for the way I handled myself. Awful for the things I screamed at my daughter. Awful for the fact that I couldn't take it anymore. The smell. That's what gets to me the most. That's what makes my fly off the handle. I can cope with the "dirtyness" of it, well sort of. Even with my OCD of washing hands a million times a day, I can cope with that. I complain, but I cope. I can even cope, sort of, with the costs. Somehow, we make do. Yes, it's hundreds a month down the drain for us. Because she has a medical condition. I accept that and cope with it. I can also cope with all the extra washing and workload it causes me. That's probably the easiest part to cope with.

What I can't cope with...is the smell. I can't. I just can't. I try and try and try. I tell myself it's not so bad. I tell myself it's not her fault. I tell myself be patient. Be kind. Be understanding and supportive. But then I'm nauseous for 7 months straight due to pregnancy, I haven't slept well in weeks because of preterm labour, I've been ill for 2 months with a stubborn bladder/kidney infection that refuses to clear up. I haven't been myself for about 8 months. So while trying to keep my pills down and not throw them up as soon as they're down...I smell it. And I blew. Like the proverbial volcano. I blew. And it wasn't her fault. Why can't I see that? Why can't I completely accept that? Why do I always, always get back to this point. This very very low point. Where I yelled at her. Screamed at her. Blew my top for something she can't help. Of course, I don't blame her for having the accident. I blame her for not trying to prevent them with the tips and help I provide. I blame her for not smelling or feeling the accident after it has happened. I blame her for not cleaning herself properly. I blame her for not taking the time to be as hygenic as possible, but always trying to be as quickly as possible in the bathroom, so that she can get back to whatever/whoever she was playing with. That's what get to me. Her not trying as hard as I want her to, to take control. To take responsibility. To try.

So here I am. Sitting at the computer with tears streaming down my face, and I wonder if she's lying in her bed, feeling unloved and unwanted and like the worst daughter in the world. Like I feel like the worst mom in the world. I've hugged her. I've told her I love her. I've tried to make it right. But words can't wipe the plate clean again. The hurt has been done. All I can do now like always, is to try and look forward again. To try and do better tomorrow. To try and use the school holiday that starts tomorrow, to show her that she's beautiful. She's loved. She's wanted.