Guilt, Shame, and Antonio Banderas

I did something awful yesterday. It wasn’t something I meant to do; I didn’t even realize I had done it at the time. It was totally and completely unintentional, but the guilt and shame will haunt me for a while….

I made Deputy Dad feel like I don’t think he’s a…well, competent father. I didn’t mean to. See, Baby Boy was home with Deputy Dad yesterday morning while I was at work. (We don’t have a sitter right now, so we’re tag-teaming the work/baby thing.) We were talking about their morning after I got home at noon, and I asked a (seemingly) benign question….something along the lines of Do you check on him when he’s napping?, and next thing I knew Deputy Dad was being cool and distant. Now, we women are supposed to be the sensitive ones….but, I swear to you, I had NO CLUE what the problem was, NO IDEA why he was acting all pissy. When he finally told me how I’d made him feel (That’s right, my MAN actually talked about his FEELINGS….Notify the press!), I felt HORRIBLE. He said he didn’t think I trusted him with the kids. That I’m always asking stuff like that. That I act like, if he’s not doing things MY way, he’s doing them wrong.

Guilt, guilt, guilt. Shame, shame, shame.

Fact is, Deputy Dad’s a TERRIFIC father. Sweet and (mostly) patient with the kids, doesn’t mind changing diapers (even the REEEEALLY bad ones), and even spends the day caring for his son, after he’s just worked half the night before. He’s a CHAMPION of dads. The absolute BEST. And I’ve told him on numerous occasions (not just Father’s Day – Honest!) how terrific I think he is. But, apparently, I was mixing these “you’re the best” signals with some “I don’t trust you with my kids” signals. Man, do we have issues here.

So I was forced to give him the “It’s not you, it’s me” speech….and, really, it IS. Every mom knows how we constantly worry about our children…every minute, every hour, every day. Compound that maternal worry with the fact that I’m just a worrier by nature, and you’ve got a recipe for an anxiety cocktail. (Hold the little plastic sword; it’s surely a choking hazard!) If I’m not with Baby Boy, in person, monitoring his every breath, I must certainly ask a million questions of the person who WAS there…..how MANY breaths, exactly? Did he seem warm? or cold? How much did he eat? sleep? pee? poop? Was his intake greater than, less than, or equal to his output?

Okay, so maybe I’m not quite THAT bad….but I certainly SEEM that way to Deputy Dad. So I apologized my butt off, reminded him that I’m just a Nervous Ninny, especially since we lost a baby to miscarriage about two and a half years ago, and silently vowed to try to keep my anxiety in check, or at least keep it to myself.

We “kissed and made up” and carried on with our lives, but the guilt stayed with me. And, as if THAT guilt weren’t enough…….I’m embarrassed to even be typing this…….I dreamed about Antonio Banderas last night. *Giggle*

Now, I’m really not one to swoon over movie stars….and Antonio Banderas is not even one of the actors that I might ordinarily be tempted to drool over, so I don’t know where the dream came from, except that I saw about a 30-second segment of a movie with him in it, as I was flipping through the channels yesterday afternoon.

Anyhow, I won’t go into any detail, since it’s just plain boring when people start telling about their dreams…..like….and then we were chewing Juicy Fruit gum in this house made out of Barbie dolls, only it wasn’t really a house, it was a boat, and…..who cares? I will say that there wasn’t any SEX in the dream….it’s important to me to go ahead and put that out there. But I still have this….well, GUILT, that I dreamed about making out with anyone other than my husband, even if I have no control over my dreams, and even if it WAS Antonio Banderas. *Snicker*

So, here I am….all shame and guilt-ridden. And still with some lingering questions about where that dream may have gone if the alarm hadn’t interrupted….

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