Mommy woes

It is a myth that some children are misbehaved during their 2nd year of life. No, exactly all children are little monsters starting at precisely month 15. I have a little monster. Her name is Addison.

I remember looking at my child through big tears, absolutely amazed at how wonderful she was...how good...how happy...how quiet. Now I look at that same child through big tears because she threw her sippy cup at me and it hit me square in the nose.
I understand the whole wanting to be independent thing, really I do.

"But dear, must you throw yourself in the floor when you don't get your way? Why must your legs become jelly and your arms go limp to the point where there is no feasible area of your body that I can hold on to? Do you realize what you look like as you lie in the middle of Dillard's, or a parking lot, or..(sniff) the public restroom floor?! If there are horrible, awful germs to be found, I'm sure you've found where they reside during your tantrums.
If only I had big black ears and a squeaky voice like Mickey Mouse, you'd stay mesmerized, your little mouth dropping open, as you followed me around all day. But I don't. I'm the big bad mommy who really thinks it's necessary for you not to run out in traffic. Who feels like you should go lie down and take a nap. I'm the one with all your best interests at heart, but you repeatedly turn your face away, cross your arms and shout, "NO!" to my every request."

This is where being a mommy starts to get hard. This is where you look back on sleepless nights and go..HA!, that was easy. This is where hard work equals no pay...not even a hug.

"But I love you to the ends of the earth. And I know even in my limited wisdom that someday, you'll grow beyond this stage. I know that one day you will look at me and say, "I love you Mommy."
Until that day arrives, I will not stop in my pursuit to make you miserable...because I love you and it's what you need...even if it's NEVER what you want."

What do you say?

Down a forgotten little street in the heart of the historic district in Augusta lies East Avenue. Tiny little row houses that are too close for comfort line this weedy, dilapidated street. Amidst the decay and neglect is a small house that someone actually does care about. The woman who lives there is about my age. Lately, in my passing, I've noticed her ever growing tummy. She usually isn't thrilled to see me. To her, I'm the absentee landlord who uses my house on that street as storage.
I have talked to her about her pregnancy, her first. It's a hobby of mine now that I'm in "the mommy club".
Today, as I pulled up the street, out she came with her round belly and protruding naval. She had a mad look on her face and I was poised to change her usual bad mood.
"Hi! It's almost time isn't it?"
Silence. Her faced was twisted. She was taking out some garbage and not looking at me.
Maybe she didn't hear me, "Looks like your about to pop. When's the due date?"
She was too close to ignore me now, but I could tell as she looked up that she wasn't mad. She was crying.
"No baby." was all she could muster.
"We go to the doctor tonight to take it out."
My heart fell, my hands dropped. Everything in me sank.
"I'm so sorry."
What a pitiful little response to this huge world of hurt this woman was in.
She went back inside and I stood right where I had, not moving, not looking at the cute happy house that now would not see the pitter patter of tiny feet. Not this year.
My thoughts are still with her hours later. My mind still wanders to East Avenue where a mommy lives without her baby.
What do you say that would ever make a difference?