my inner child is spoiled

Seventeen months ago I left my job to be a stay-at-home mom to my inner child. Since then I have noticed just how spoiled that inner child is. This morning, for instance, she had frozen pizza and rolos for breakfast. As I sipped on my coffee, wondering how she could stomach such a feast without feeling sick, I sighed with relief that at least I am not responsible for any actual children.

Friends say I'd make a great mother. I am, after all, a fairly swell Anti. But I know from the way I treat my kitties that my children would end up in therapy. My cats are subjected to a blend of overprotective paranoia and benign neglect, mixed with bouts of smothering affection. I alternate between praise and disdain for the same bad behaviors (usually regarding the murder of small creatures) and I clearly play favorites (which I also alternate).

And now, I realize, I treat my inner child with this same damaging mix of indulgence and inconsistent discipline. When I left my job to save my sanity, I imagined my inner child and I taking naps, eating healthy snacks, and combing the beaches for shiny trinkets, abducting living creatures from the tidepools and putting them back after a thorough inspection. I figured we'd do arts and crafts, read interesting books, plant things in the garden. I thought I'd be a really great mom.

I'm not a complete failure. My inner and child and I have a decent relationship and for the most part we have a really great time. I just can't help but think I am letting her down sometimes.