Salted Wounds

As this holiday season starts, I think I will be writing a lot more. Because I will be frustrated and lonely and tired and have insomnia and be depressed a lot.

I know I can try to avoid those feelings, just like I know we can avoid certain types of accidents and mishaps. We can try to put things out of reach, we can try to label things as dangerous, we can try but sometimes shit happens.

A few hours ago, my daughter might have drank some liquid soap. And in response to what she might have done, I asked her to tell me which is futile. So I smelled her and immediately took off the clothing that she was wearing that smelled of the soap. Then I took her up to the bathroom to wash the residue from her hands and face. While she was playing in the bathroom sink, I googled the product to determine its danger and then called poison control. I was reassured that she would survive and that no trip to the ER was necessary.

That's my version of what happened. And I think all of those steps were rational and non-panicky and non-judgmental. But according to the Hub, this was my fault. Even though she was downstairs with him when this happened. And I didn't overreact by threatening to pour the liquid soap down the drain or out of the window.

As he was about to lash out at me by pointing the finger at my negligence for leaving the product within her reach, I got mad because I felt that this wasn't the moment to blame either one of us for what could have happened. It was a moment for addressing the crisis at hand, talking to our child about danger, taking care of her immediate needs, and then addressing how we would avoid situations like this in the future. What seemed very straight-forward to me became yet another example of how he has become the most irrationally over-protective father on the planet.

And so I threatened to walk out if he ever tried to accuse me of being a bad or neglectful parent again. And I mean that shit. I will walk the fuck out. Because I'm at the point where it seems clear that would be the only way to get through to him.

Despite how pissed I am, I did not blame him for what happened. As always, I acknowledged that I might have left the product out (if I did, because I used it recently to clean up her vomit that he half cleaned up the other day). But I didn't say anything about the fact that he wasn't watching her at the precise moment she got into the soap. I never say anything about how whenever he is "watching" her, she always finds a way to get into mischief or how his way of "watching" her involves sitting on the sofa reading through his social media. I didn't imply that he was at all culpable for what happened because I didn't feel that way at all. I was just relieved that our daughter was okay.

I am tired of feeling like this is a parenting competition between us instead of us being in this together. Every time we face a challenge like this, his instinct is to become the histrionic, finger-pointing, deflective parent, which is supposed to be his way of resolving the issue. Because chastising me is doing something constructive? If she trips over something, he moves the item and then complains about my carelessness or about how I've given her too much stuff.

How is everything that happens my fucking fault? And how are we teaching her to face the world if he prefers to change the world instead of teaching her to deal? Who is the parent with the real problem here?

I'm just venting at 3am. I went to sleep but I woke up and needed to get some of this off my chest. I don't have anyone to talk to about anything anymore. I pray, and I know God hears me. But I am often unsure if I'm praying for the right things if I'm essentially saying and feeling the same thing.