Wax and Wail

by Cathy


I was a full-on, stay-at-home-mom with Bella. I was there for her through everything. No preschool; just her and I, every day, together. She was an innately sensitive and emotional baby and still is, but back then, even moreso than now, she required gentleness and continuous companionship, even when laying down to go to sleep.

So when she was three, I decided to try and ease her into a little separation time from me on a larger scale than staying with the grandparents or having a playdate at the neighbor's house.
I had an appointment for a bikini wax at Lifetime Fitness' salon. They have a fantastic kids area with engaging supervisors that make the childrens' experience fun. I specifically went into the play area with her (and maybe this was my mistake, but I just didn't want to dump her somewhere new without making her feel comfortable and safe about it) and showed her all the wonderful things she could occupy herself with. Once I felt she was fine with it all, I snuck out and prayed.

After about ten minutes, while settled fully into the classic bikini wax position on the spa-like table as the aesthetician was diligently and painstakingly deforesting me back into human form, I heard over the P.A. system: "Will Mrs. (Me) please return to the child care area. Thank you." I pretended not to hear it and thought, 'Just leave her, she'll be okay. She's got toys, other kids to play with - she just has to get accustomed to being without me.' A few minutes later, I heard it again. I was perspiring already from the fact that hair was being ripped out of my private area at lightning speeds, but the pressure from the sweetly annoying voice coming from the P.A. had me sweating bullets.

After the third announcement, I finally interrupted the chatty aesthetician and told her that it was me they were paging all this time and could she please make it quick? She could clearly see my anxiousness and followed through. The announcements kept coming and I kept getting more anxious and frazzled. As soon as she ripped that last wax strip off, I jumped off the table, doused some talc on the now red and swollen skin, and began to get dressed in the smokey haze of the powder, while explaining to her that I will be back to take care of the bill as soon as possible.

I went to collect my child before they thought she was just abandoned there, and what did I see? Poor little Bella was beet-faced and soaked through to her hair with sweat and tears. She had been crying so much that she actually couldn't catch her breath and was quasi-hyperventilating. I burst throught the door and immediately scooped her up in my arms, telling her that I was here now and that everything is okay. She was trembling.

Naturally, I felt like the worst mother in the world. I had traumatized my child. Now she will NEVER be able to be alone, to get dropped off at school or anywhere. How could I think to do something so selfish? How could try to get my child to get used to being separated from me for a short amount of time?
It wasn't until I got home that I realized that in my haste I forgot to put my underwear back on. And to make things worse, Waxing Wendy left me with the 'postage stamp' look rather than the traditional 'runway' look. What an experience this had turned out to be.

I spent the rest of the day comforting Bella with hugs and kisses and telling her that I will always be there for her, no matter what. That eventually, she will have to go to school, playdates, the houses of friends and family, activities, etc. and that I couldn't go with her everywhere, but I would always be there to pick her up or always be home for her when she got back. Basically, I reassured her she will never just be LEFT somewhere.

She is now a social (and socially adept) young girl who still loves for me to lay with her at night sometimes but also needs her time by herself and her friends.

As for me? I eventually got over the postage stamp waxing but the guilt still - and always will - remain.
Mom Guilt is just something our conscience is automatically handed in exchange for bringing a child into the world and it's always there, prodding the backs of our minds at every decision we make.