Little boy

Tonight I was trying to set up a treadmill with Steven's help.  I kept getting frustrated thinking he should be able to help me more.  There is no man of the house, it is just the two of us.  When he said "can I take a shower so I can watch TV before bed?". I almost lost my shit.  I thought seriously after all we have been through and I all I do for you, your 11 year old self can't help me move a treadmill?

Then I remembered he is just a little boy.  A little boy who has been forced to grow up quickly.  A little boy who all to well understands what it means to not have a dad at home to help move furniture. And I felt guilty.  Guilty for expecting him to think like an adult.  Guilty for expecting him to to act like adult.  Guilty for putting my expectations on a 11 year old boy.  Could he help me? Yes.  Should it be his responsibility? No. We did move the treadmill but I know he was upset that he didn't "do it right.". Feelings I never wanted my child to experience.

I hugged him. I thanked him. I told him how grateful I am to have him.  I apologized for being short tempered.  But all of this can't erase the hurt.  My expectations were to high and I hurt my child because if it.  All the I love yous and I'm sorries in the world can't make up for that.  He said he has wanted to cry more times because I am upset with him than because his dad.  Ouch.  That hurts.  My husband was no saint.  He was impatient and short tempered, but Steven doesn't remember that.  He remembers a dad who loved him.  And I will never do anything to tarnish that memory.  But how can I compete with a dead man on a pedestal?

He is just a little boy who is being expected to grow up to fast. And I feel terrible.  I love him more than life and tonight I hurt him. There is no way to make up for that.  But at that same time, it is my job to raise him to be responsible and productive.  This solo parenting is not easy.  There is no rule book.  It is the most difficult job I have ever had. And it is just beginning.