Today, my toddler made me cry in the grocery store parking lot. I had reached my breaking point after a string of unfortunate events in the aisles, none of which are too interesting. But the series finale included her throwing an Elmo figurine at the poor elderly man in the checkout line. He was just trying to help me pick up my dropped juice pouches. So for aiding the enemy, he got an Elmo straight to the face.
The stares, the screams, the shame. They were more than I could handle. So I put my groceries in the car, along with my child who needed an exorcism, and I cried.
I'm not sure how long I was in the parking lot, but when I pulled out onto the road I realized how long I had needed that cry. Life builds up sometimes. And it's not the big things that creep up on you. It's the little sneaky annoyances that work their way into your nerves: that stupid look the lady at the checkout counter gave me when my kid went rogue, the zit between my nose and my cheek, we're out of wine... Boom. Waterworks.
Now believe me, I realize how ridiculous my first world, white girl problems must sound. My life is generally a happy place to live, and I should have nothing to cry about. In my boo-hooing moment, I felt like a spoiled, suburban mom-brat who needs to be reminded how good things are.
I need thicker skin.
It's a proven fact that being a mother is synonymous with having thick (really thick) skin. It's our survival mechanism as moms. You see that lady in Target who has three kiddos in tow, sipping away on her coffee. Two kids are fighting in the shopping cart, and one is about to fly off the back like superman. But she is cool as a cucumber- she has the mom skin.
I haven't gotten mine yet. I've been waiting for eighteen months now, and nada. Is there some sort of pre-requisite system that requires you to complete 120 hours in humiliation before you become numb to it? I'm not sure how it works, but I want my thick skin badge.
With or without our thick skin, sometimes as moms we've just had enough. And we need to release everything that we've been storing up, however that might be. I'm a big advocate of venting to your best friend, and I know other moms who swear by yoga. But today none of these things were available to me. So, I cried. And if crying gets me from emotional point A to a much calmer point B, then I'm going to do it.
There's no shame in my crying game, especially while I'm waiting for my thick skin to arrive.
