On Tuesday night I went to bed disappointed and by Thursday morning I woke up feeling guilty.

Parenting. It's a vicious cycle of emotions.

"You just gave up. In the middle of the race!" I raised my voice as I drove my son home from a swim meet. "You walked toward the finish line in a swim race!" I screamed. "I don't get it. I really don't get it." I shook my head in disappointment. "You could've just doggy paddled toward the end and finished the race to show sportsmanship." I watched his tears fall and changed my tone. "You did so well in the breaststroke and you were ahead in freestyle; but, then you just stopped in the middle of the race. Why?" I asked him and threw my hands up in defeat. "Why did you just give up, Handsome?"

"I don't know why, Mama. It just hurt to swim."

"You were doing so good before that last race and having so much fun. What happened?"

"Can we please just stop talking about it, Mama?"

Although I promised not to talk about what happened that night, I tucked him into bed with a lecture about Quitting. I couldn't help myself. It was the first time, in my parenting career, that I was extremely disappointed and my feelings controlled me. I was disappointed in him and I was disappointed in myself. It wasn't the first night that both of us fell asleep completely exhausted from crying. I cried when he didn't latch on as a newborn and I cried a million times since then.

He's my first born child. "I am so sorry, Handsome. I don't know everything I should know about raising kids." I started my sincere anthology of apologies. "I will be the first to admit that I was wrong. I was wrong. I will always admit when I'm wrong." My son looked at me in the Cleveland Clinic hospital parking lot where we learned he had a severe case of Otitis Externa ("swimmer's ear") and his eyes grew large in disbelief, "You didn't believe me?"

"No, I didn't."

"I couldn't finish the race because I was hurt."

"I am so sorry. So very sorry."

I woke up on Thursday morning totally full of mommy guilt and so I tip-toed into my son's bedroom. "We are in this together. I have no idea what I am doing so tell me, use your words, and tell me when I'm doing a bad job." I whispered into his ears. He yawned and stretched and looked me in the eyes, "I will, Mama. I will always tell you the truth."

"I'm so sorry, Handsome."

"I love you, Mama."

Never has an apology felt so good.