I see the phrase “worst mom ever” a lot around the baby forum, usually in relation to a baby falling off something and hurting themselves. It’s prevalence comes off as obligatory, a strange kind of almost humble-brag in my opinion, broadcasting the necessary amount of mommy-guilt to keep from being jumped on by the internet as a whole. It makes me feel a little weird that I don’t feel that way because there’s a mental list in my head of ways Cameron will hurt himself throughout his childhood.

Checked off crawling off the bed and doing a face plant off the couch in the same week.

He didn’t fall off any furniture this week but I’ve become the worst mom ever.

I yelled at my one year-old when he wouldn’t stop grabbing my hair while I was practicing back-carry in the Ergo in front of the mirror, and finally had to put him down in a huff and walk out. (As much of a huff as having to untangle him from the carrier straps first would allow.) Luckily he just saw that as playtime, and when I went back to check on him he had found the new box of Kleenix and pulled the entire thing out all the floor.

After two failed attempts to transfer him to the crib for a nap, going from completely asleep in my arms to standing up screaming each time I lay him down and he screamed some more when I gave up and brought him to the living room, I put him back in the crib and left him standing there screaming while I walked away.

I told him repeatedly to go play with his toys while I was trying to load the dishwasher, getting more annoyed each time I had to physically move him away, until he grabbed a knife out of the silverware basket. I grabbed it back from his hands, grabbed him by the arms and carried him that way to the living room, where I tried to lock him in with the baby gate except that the posts were tightened too tight for me to loosen and adjust into a cage (making that reaction fall as flat as my earlier huff.)

I held him down more forcefully than I am comfortable with during a diaper change when he wanted to lunge at the sink and turn on the water, again and again and again…

I was getting him ready for bed early because I didn’t know what else to do with him after all of this, and that also felt like a punishment even though I didn’t mean it to be.

I scared myself with how quickly my reactions escalated that day. If I yell at my one year-old for being a one year-old what happens when my future two year-old starts acting like a two year-old? How far is a forceful holding down or dragging away from actually hitting my child in anger?

I made a post on Facebook about being ready for toddlerhood to be over, and then regretted it. I tend to post things humorously in a ‘be amused at my misery with me’ kind of way, and I don’t know how to change that to read, ‘No really, I’m completely falling apart over here…’

The next day I felt the calm after the storm which tends to happen after my breakdowns.

I also decided very rationally that it’s time to go back on my meds.

It’s the day after that and I’m not sure where I stand right now.