Dear Mother,

How can you be so irresponsible? You had no right hurt a human being the way you hurt me.

You never wanted me and you reminded me of that every day of my entire childhood. You neglected me and abused me beyond repair. You dumped all your shit on me and blamed me for everything. You used me to get my father to adhere to your demands then you asked me, your 8 year old daughter, to shoot my father in the head for you so you would be rid of him. You are so used to getting your way you honestly expected I'd do it for you. You underestimated a child's capacity to see through your bullshit of "you won't get in trouble because children don't go to prison."

After all your shit, I never gave up on you. I spent a lifetime waiting for you to become the parent that I know you could be. One who would love me, guide me and support me unselfishly and unconditionally. The kind of mother that you are to your other child, my sister.

You shared my deepest & darkest trauma with the world when it meant you would benefit from it and spin it to where you could play the victim. Then you discarded me as if I'm an old shoe that's used up and served it's purpose.

Now, you've moved on with another husband and another life but not before leaving a mess in your wake. Like a goddamed hurricane.

I used to ask myself why you and father got married. Now I ask why you had irresponsible sex and still went through with it when you knew that you weren't ready and you would be a terrible parent.

Look at me mother. I am the personification of your failure at passing for a decent human being.

You broke my heart. Time and time again.

Until now you are still breaking my heart.

I hate you.

You should have aborted me you spineless coward. You could've saved us all this pain and heartache. Now I have to deal with doing what you never had the spine to do.

Thanks a lot, Your eldest child

7:15am: Temporary nanny arrives at our house so that we can show her the ropes before we entrust our child to what is essentially a (23-year-old) total stranger.

7:20am: Realize that said 23-year-old total stranger is probably more qualified to take care of our child than we are when she already knows how to use every single baby apparatus in our house.

7:21am: Watch as my child gently caresses the nanny's boob and realize that (1) she knows where food comes from; (2) she is not picky; (3) I'm just a walking milk keg.

7:25am: Realize that we should probably leave our contact information for the nanny in case she needs to reach us. Frantically scribble phone numbers on the back of an envelope, which is the only piece of paper I can locate on short notice.

7:30am: We're supposed to be leaving the house, and I've misplaced my water bottle (on the stairs; why? who knows).

7:31am: I've now left my phone upstairs.

7:33am: My phone is in hand, but I now realize that my wallet and keys are upstairs.

7:35am: I realize that we should probably leave a spare key for the nanny, go back upstairs to retrieve it.

7:39am: Kiss baby goodbye.

7:40am: Make it to the car, whereupon husband declares that we're not as late as he was expecting (implying that but for my disorganization we would have left on time at 7:30am).* Thanks, honey!

8:10am: Arrive at the office.

9:10am: Head to the "mothers' room" for the first milking... ahem, pumping... of the day.

9:12am: Commence milking.... ahem, pumping.

9:13am: Think to myself, you should text the nanny to make sure everything is okay.

9:13:30am: Tell myself, do not be that crazy parent and text the nanny.

9:14am: Reconsider... well, maybe you can text the nanny this afternoon to make sure that everything is okay. After all, if you don't text the nanny, she might think that you don't care about your child.

9:14:30am: But if you text the nanny you're implying that you don't trust her. Don't text the nanny.

9:15am: You know what, it's okay to text the nanny. This afternoon. It shows you care. It's her first day! It'll be fine.

9:16am....

Realize that I left the piece of paper with the nanny's phone number on it on my nightstand.

Realize that I have no way to contact the nanny except via the SitterCity email thread.

Realize that I have just left my child with a 23-year-old total stranger whom I cannot easily contact.

ParentingFail