The Bad Mom

Gymboree today.
Can’t hardly wait.
I’m so so tired
and running late.
But I know what
my mom would say.
I’ve got to go.
I’ve got to try.
He’ll get the hang of it.
Give it one more time.
Maybe today will be the day,
That he will sit and stay,
In circle time, and say his name.
Like the other children, half his age.
Maybe today will be the day,
That I will not have to chase,
Under parachutes, through trampolines,
Obstacle courses, along balance beams.
Maybe he will wait in line,
He’ll listen up for the first time.
He will engage or at least he’ll try.
The instructors will not roll their eyes.
Maybe today, I’ll just sit, relax.
Sip my coffee, have a nice chat.
No sorry shrugs, or judgy sighs.
No constant checking of the time.
No meltdowns. No screaming.
No packing up early, no leaving.
No collapsing on the floor.
No walk of shame out the door.
No cheeky questions, “How old is he?”
No lashing out, “he’s fricken three!”
I know why you are asking me.
I know exactly what you mean.
I’m not a bad mom, I’m really trying.
Drenched in sweat, verging on crying.
I’m not a bad mom, but feel free,
If you must, then please judge me.
I can take it, but leave my son be.
He is autistic, you just can’t see…
That what you’re judging, is disability.
So today I’m the bad mom at Gymboree.
And while there are no guarantees,
Maybe next week, maybe, we’ll see..
They won’t see the bad mom at Gymboree.
They’ll just see Henry, and just see me.
-Diaper Diaries