Who said it's all good?
There's something to be said for child rearing. It's both the best and worst thing that can happen to you as a person. Sure, the bundle of peeing and shitting joy that lands in your arms for the first time (and rips you apart during birth) is one thing. They cry, eat, sleep, snuggle... all by the rules. Unless they are colicky... which means they are crying. And crying. And more crying why you wonder what you did to deserve the hell called your life for the first 3 months. Still, the child sleeps (eventually). And the angelic features woo you into feeling soft, cuddly, and even maternal.
But then they turn 4. Or in my case almost 6. And they throw Starburst candies at you because you ask them why they decided it was time to eat one without asking. And then they slam their door in response to you asking again, why they threw the candy. And then drama called crying at the top of their lungs. And then they give you the look of fear when Dad comes home. Because (gasp), you might tell him of this bad behavior.
Unfortunately, on most nights, I might feel partially responsible for this odd behavior. My fuse is often short after working all day in an office that is far from stress free (my overtime hours are enough to make one want to cry. Only I'd cry for you, I don't get overtime pay. I'm salary). I'm usually quick to raise my voice. Maybe even accuse. Or am just plain grumpy because I just want him to behave. But tonight? I did none of the above.
Calmness was all about me (even with a fussy baby on my hip and dinner on the stove). And I was matter-a-factly asking about the candy. Only I got the response that typically I would give--exaggerated, loud, and a bit snotty. It's nothing short of staring myself in the face on my worst days as a mother. And I am supposed to be setting a good example.
So, I scold him. I talk to him. I reason with him. And I hug him.
Finally after about 30 minutes of time alone (which was not forced. He had 4 minutes in his room before I entered to have "The Talk"), he walked back out meekly. Sat next to me on the couch with arms out for a small but tender hug and a "I'm Sorry." And we were back at square one.
I wish I could say all scolding moments were resolved like this one. But, as any mother would tell you, it's not always common. Sometimes there is more crying. Or just a plain resume of normal--give or take a few timid looks from across the room. Or more yelling (sometimes from both parties). Or the dreaded Talk From Dad. But all in all, it's usually non eventful. For The Kiddo.
For me? It's another story. I'm full of doubt. Some regret for raising my voice. Some for just not knowing what the best course of action is. Or what I should or should not do. Or for just not doing it right (whatever that is). I find myself staring at my son wondering what is going through his head and praying that THIS VERY MOMENT isn't the memory he has from his year of being 5. Who would want to remember their mom frazzled and stressed over something seemingly small (eating a Strawberry Starburst candy)? Or a mom that liked to raise her voice or take conference calls every morning on the way to summer camp? Because, I am afraid, that is the mom he'll remember.
But then they turn 4. Or in my case almost 6. And they throw Starburst candies at you because you ask them why they decided it was time to eat one without asking. And then they slam their door in response to you asking again, why they threw the candy. And then drama called crying at the top of their lungs. And then they give you the look of fear when Dad comes home. Because (gasp), you might tell him of this bad behavior.
Unfortunately, on most nights, I might feel partially responsible for this odd behavior. My fuse is often short after working all day in an office that is far from stress free (my overtime hours are enough to make one want to cry. Only I'd cry for you, I don't get overtime pay. I'm salary). I'm usually quick to raise my voice. Maybe even accuse. Or am just plain grumpy because I just want him to behave. But tonight? I did none of the above.
Calmness was all about me (even with a fussy baby on my hip and dinner on the stove). And I was matter-a-factly asking about the candy. Only I got the response that typically I would give--exaggerated, loud, and a bit snotty. It's nothing short of staring myself in the face on my worst days as a mother. And I am supposed to be setting a good example.
So, I scold him. I talk to him. I reason with him. And I hug him.
Finally after about 30 minutes of time alone (which was not forced. He had 4 minutes in his room before I entered to have "The Talk"), he walked back out meekly. Sat next to me on the couch with arms out for a small but tender hug and a "I'm Sorry." And we were back at square one.
I wish I could say all scolding moments were resolved like this one. But, as any mother would tell you, it's not always common. Sometimes there is more crying. Or just a plain resume of normal--give or take a few timid looks from across the room. Or more yelling (sometimes from both parties). Or the dreaded Talk From Dad. But all in all, it's usually non eventful. For The Kiddo.
For me? It's another story. I'm full of doubt. Some regret for raising my voice. Some for just not knowing what the best course of action is. Or what I should or should not do. Or for just not doing it right (whatever that is). I find myself staring at my son wondering what is going through his head and praying that THIS VERY MOMENT isn't the memory he has from his year of being 5. Who would want to remember their mom frazzled and stressed over something seemingly small (eating a Strawberry Starburst candy)? Or a mom that liked to raise her voice or take conference calls every morning on the way to summer camp? Because, I am afraid, that is the mom he'll remember.
Labels: life, me, motherhood, parenting, The Kiddo
