Have you ever come to a realization about a particularly frustrating situation and you suddenly feel really ashamed because what you’ve realized is that you’ve had your head up your ass? Well, that was me this morning.

The boy, my sweet, sweet baby boy, has been super freaking cranky for the past few days. Today was no different. I can usually handle his moodiness (with the help of my friend Jameson-for me, not Jude), but this morning, well, he just started whining as soon as he got up, and I was tired, and well… things just went downhill from there.

I tried everything I had in my arsenal: I tried nursing him, not nursing him, reading to him, playing with him, feeding him, giving him his water… nothing worked. He just kept at it like he was gunning to make it into the Guinness Book for the most consecutive hours spent whining before the age of 2.

So there I was, frustrated beyond all belief, and it wasn’t even 8:30am yet. At that point I launched into a diatribe about “how much I do for [him]” and “how all I do is love [him]” and “don’t I deserve some thanks and maybe a moment’s peace for all that I do?”

And then I was smacked in the face and kicked in the shins by a moment of clarity.

I’m an ass. I know it was the tiredness and frustration talking, but man, was I actually wanting and expecting my son (my not even 16-month-old son) to be thankful for my love? Christ. I’m an ass. I love and care for my son for no good reason at all. I love and care for him because he’s him. I’m gentle with him because he deserves gentle parents. I don’t parent with the expectation that Jude will be grateful for all I do for him. I parent the way I do because it makes sense and because children deserve unconditional love and care and understanding.

Have I mentioned I’m an ass?

Does this parenting thing ever get easier, or am I doomed to continue in a cycle of acting like a idiot-being hit with reality-lamenting my woeful parenting-apologizing to my son-acting like an idiot… lather, rinse, repeat?