Unfit

Yesterday I decided to take Bryce to church for the first time. Our church starts at 9am, so I knew this would be a challenge. I got up and fed him on one side, then showered and proceeded to do my hair. He started to fuss because he hadn't completely finished eating, but I desperately wanted to be finished with myself before I sat down to feed him again. That way I could balance my remaining time between feeding him and helping the other kids, etc. And, he would get a snack right before we left and therefore maybe last during all of the first meeting.

He continued to fuss, so I placed him on a blanket outside the bathroom where I could see him and he could see me. I then continued with make-up and a few more hair modifications. After a few minutes Chelsea walked into my room. She looked at Bryce crying on the floor and she looked at me in the bathroom. Then she sighed loudly, reached down to pick him up, and said with all the disgust a 6-year-old can muster,

"What kind of mother are you?"

"Can't you see your baby is crying on the floor?"

I paused, unsure if I should defend myself, admit that she was right and apologize, or punish her for being insolent and huffy. I decided on the first.

"I'm just trying to finish up and then I'll feed him." I said. "He's not going to starve."

She looked at me questioningly and carried him out of the room, whispering, "Don't worry, Bryce. Chelsea's here."

I let her go without any further comment because I was afraid if she stayed around I'd get more lectures. And, frankly, she did pacify him for a few minutes. But I finished my hair wondering who exactly was the mother in this situation.

I've decided that my guilt indicates I am the mother --
an apparently unfit one.