Why are people like me allowed to procreate?

Most of the time I like to think that I have this mothering thing down. But then, inevitably, I do something that makes me wonder how much my kids' therapy sessions are going to cost me.

Case in point. A couple of weeks ago, Colin had gone off to school with his dad, and I was letting Lucia catch a few extra minutes of sleep, which, trust me, is really best for everyone. While she was sleeping, I went up to the attic to use my printer for some work documents. I guess I hadn't started printing yet, as Lucia never heard me just one floor up, nor did I hear the little pitter patter of her feet getting out of bed. The next thing I knew, I heard shrieks of terror from downstairs. I ran down from the attic, to the bedroom floor, to the main floor, then to the basement, all the while calling, "Lucia, it's okay, it's okay!" She was standing at the door to the garage, looking out at the space where her dad's car was supposed to me, and screaming in terror, tears streaming down her face. She told me later that when she got up, she looked in the top bunk for Colin, looked in our bedroom, went downstairs to check if we were eating breakfast, then went down to the basement, and couldn't find a soul. I felt so terrible for her, waking up one morning and thinking her whole family had left her. That required about 15 to 20 minutes of cuddle time to get back on track.

Then about a week later, I failed miserably again. Every morning, Lucia likes to stand at the window of her classroom, and wave and blow kisses as I walk to my car. On that particular morning, I had to go into Milan, which always involves massive traffic jams, desperate searching for car parking at the metro station, then the fun ride on public transport, the employees of which are perpetually on strike. For someone who generally works from home, this causes a great deal of stress. So as I was walking out of the school, my mind was consumed with how much I was dreading the race into Milan to make sure I wasn't late for my meeting. AND I FORGOT TO WAVE TO MY LITTLE GIRL. I didn't even realize that I had forgotten until about 15 minutes later, as I was sitting in a traffic jam. I was horrified, I felt sick to my stomach all day, thinking about how awful she must have felt when mommy didn't turn around. I almost called the school and had her put them on the phone so that I could apologize, but then I thought it might upset her all over again. That afternoon when I picked her up, I thought I would wait for her to bring it up. And she didn't. So after an hour or so, I asked if she had been upset when Mommy had forgotten to wave to her. She was in a good mood at that point, so she didn't seem too put out. But for the next couple of weeks, every morning when I dropped her off at school, she would ask me at least 5 times if I was going to wave to her at the window.

So I am going to start saving up now, putting a little money aside in an account so that one day my kids can lay on a therapist's couch and spew invectives about their incompetent mom.