God is still stalking me
I know that Dude surely is testing me. I should have known it was going to be hard when Zoë wouldn’t let me put her ponytails in her hair. She’s such a little cranky butt in the mornings. I hate to wake her when she’s not ready. She woke up early on Sunday and we watched cartoons for a bit.
Getting her ready takes forever. "Don't touch me. I want to sleep. Get away from me." This is not the words of a teenager, but a three year old. Oh joy. What do I have to look forward to?
We get to church. Zoë’s actually looking most adorable. She seems in a pretty good mood. We had discussed church. She was going to be a good girl and read her books and ZIP it. ZIP it. ZZZZZZZ. I told her to make sure she was nice and quiet so she could hear God, and also so she could go to her cousin’s birthday party later on.
It starts off bad. How I end up sitting next to the most child-hating bitches every time is beyond me. Zoë wanted to hold the song book. No, make that books. She had two. They are about 2 inches thick. Freaking Catholics. Sitting, standing, kneeling… all the while, Zoë is laying, crawling, kicking and standing on the pew (non-Catholics, that’s a bench).
She accidentally kicks the bitch. Great. Just typical three year old behavior. The bitty next to me is giving me the evil eye, like I can control my child. Well I can’t. She’s three. They are not built for long-term sitting, much less silence. So fuck you.
Then we have to go potty. Ok. We made it through that trek. The moment of truth: Communion. I go up to receive communion, the woman pats Zoë on the head and gives her a blessing. I skip the wine, because it’s weird that everyone drinks out of the same cup. Too many germs for me. Well then Zoë screams, “I want some JUICE!” Over and over, very loudly.
I go back to grab our stuff so we can head to the “Cry room.” (self explanatory) She lays down on the pew. Zoë’s kicking and screaming. Pulling the limp-body protest bit. She’s loud. “I want SOME! I WANT SOME JUICE.” I want to die at this point. There are near tears in my eyes and I’m praying to God to make her stop. I’m half holding her, half nearly dropping her. She kicks me in the face. Yea, I love God. Go God!
We get in the cry room and she’s still screaming, “I want to go to church. I’m finished. I’m done now. I want to be good.” Over and over. I feel like complete shit. Everyone’s giving me the pity look. Someone actually say's she's sorry as they leave the room. Nice. She’s on the floor. Enough of that. Crying big time now. I finally grab her and beeline out to our car. She’s screaming and crying still.
I sit in the front seat of our car with her. I start crying. Yeah, I suck. I’m a dumbass. I wonder why I’m even trying to take her with me to church.
My mom always took us. Seven of us. Seven kids all two years apart. A brood. We never sat in the cry room. We used to take up the entire pew. She said families should go to church together. Kids are a part of the church, and if they don’t go, they never learn how to act.
I know I could take her to the daycare. But she’s already in daycare all week for 10-11 hours a day. I want Zoë with me in church. I want to hold her and listen to what the priest is saying and to hear the singing and I want Zoë to enjoy our quiet time together. This is the only time when we aren’t rushing off to go somewhere. School. Work. Babysitting. More school. Grocery store. It never ends.
She finally stops crying. She gives me a hug. My heart breaks for this child.
God knows she needs me, so why is he fucking making it so hard?