Bum-Rapping Moms
July, 1991
He hates me, I know. He wishes I were a million miles away."Why do you hate me?" I ask him."I don't hate you," he says with weary exasperation. He has said it about 20 times today. I'm really getting to him now. He's going to throw something at me in a minute. My rampant neediness is repulsing him. I'll try to stop myself. I can do it. No, I can't."You hate me and you know it.""Would you please shut up, Mom?"Ok, yes, I'm horrible! I'm playing lame, guilt-t...
