On anger, and redemption

March, 2011 -- It started at Starbucks -- I met Nate and Eden there because Nate had a gig, so I swung by on my way home from work to pick up Eden. She didn't tell us about a poopy diaper, and when we were walking out of Starbucks she could hardly walk and started crying that her bottom hurt. We were at San Diego State University, which OF COURSE doesn't have diaper changing tables in the (somewhat dirty) bathrooms. We walked a little bit, Eden limping along in tow, until we found a bathroom with a big handicap stall. I laid down our packs on the floor and tried to make it as sanitary as possible.

She SCREAMED through that diaper change. Anyone who heard us must have thought I was abusing my daughter. And I forget what exactly she was doing at the sink afterward, but it made me so angry I hit the faucet and started. speaking. through. clenched. teeth. (Warning sign number one for next time.)

We made it home and had a very pleasant evening together, until it was time for bath. She asked for another five minutes, which is usually no problem, but tonight she was too tired to deal with it and wasted her whole five minutes crying about the bath that had to come afterward. And then I made her get in the bath with a diaper-rash bottom.

CRYing and SCREAMing, and I needed to get things ready for bed. I needed her to sit down and soak her bottom, and she was too tired to do anything but cry. I lost it. I walked in to our bedroom, may or may not have thrown our ironing board at the closet door, and screamed SHUT THE **** UP!!!!!!! at the top of my lungs to the ceiling.

Wow.

Meanwhile, Eden's calling, "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" in fright from the bathroom and as much as I needed a minute to myself to calm down, I couldn't leave her in the bathroom alone. So I made a few ill-fated attempts to walk in and quiet her down, which ended up in a few more retreats to the bedroom to scream bloody murder and a stern "You. Need. To. STOP. CRYING." to Eden. (Which is stupid. She was tired and in pain.)

She actually handled it pretty well. I know she knew I was yelling and that I was upset. She was trying her best to calm herself. ("Mommy (hiccup) I (hiccup) stopped (hiccup) cryyyy----innnnnngggggg....[more crying].)

I breathed, "God, help me, I can NOT do this," and walked back in to the bathroom. Got down on my knees. Hugged her, wiped her face with a cloth and told her I was sorry. That it was wrong to yell, that Mommy was sorry, and I loved her very much, she was a very good girl and it was okay for her to cry if she needed to. That I was sorry her bottom hurt so much, and let's try and take care of it for you.

She fell asleep not even five minutes at my breast and that's when I cried. Cried because I selfishly wanted her to say she forgave me and understoond. Cried because I couldn't handle it. Cried because she hadn't done anything wrong. Cried because I remember so many, many days when I was a young teenager, and yelled the same way at my brother and sisters because they wouldn't do what I had asked...and I was supposed to be in charge...and I didn't know what else to do.

It's terrifying to realize how thin the line is between going off your rocker and behaving the way you should as a parent.
 
I wrote that out for my blog but never posted it....partly because it is embarassing, but mostly because it unnerved me, and I didn't want to dwell on it.
 
We've had a number of tantrums since that day. Not a ton -- Eden is very mild-tempered, good natured, and can often verbalize her way out of frustration -- but she is still a preschooler, and so there you go.
 
Tonight, however, was a doozy. Nate has been out of town for a week and it's been hard on Eden. She's handled it pretty well, but I can tell from the clingy drop-offs at preschool, the couple of potty accidents, sleeping and waking at night and the mentions she makes of it. Today is the last day, and we had a birthday party to go to. It was fun, but it was also hot, and we were both up a lot last night, so by the time we left the party to go over to another friend's house (so I could go get a haircut) I knew she was pretty taxed.
 
We got home by 5 but she barely made it to 6. She wanted to play school so badly, and I wanted to let her (too early for bed!) but she was just DONE and couldn't play without sobbing so I told her no more play tonight. We'll play tomorrow, my Peanut, but now it's bath time and then bed.
 
Running. Kicking. Writhing. Screaming at the top of her lungs.
Breath holding. Jaw clenching. Eyes wild, and full of tears.
Sobbing.
 
I totally get it. She's a miniature me.
 
I took a deep breath and realized this was going to take some effort. Then I never left her side. I never raised my voice. I told her Mommy Is In Charge Right Now and I am going to take good care of you.
 
I imagined myself inside her skin, emotions raging. Wanting to be in control but unable to muster it. Wanting someone to lead but unable to admit it. Needing space to work through it within myself, but needing Love nearby. I have been there, so many times, in her tiny shoes.
 
I started the water and she said, "NO! I NEED MORE TIME FOR CRYING!" So I continued to hold her and said that was fine, that we had some time for her to get ready [emotionally] for bath while the water got ready for her. She screamed and cried and raged in my arms, sometimes arching away but mostly raging into me, looking at my face, in my eyes. This time, I was okay. She found love.
 
No mommy milk, I say, until after bath. You are too tired. It will make you fall asleep and you need this bath before sleep [potty accidents + no bath = sore bottom]. She calmed in my arms and closed her eyes, so I knew it was now, or never. I'm sure the neighbors again thought I was abusing my child (DON'T! TOUCH! MY! BOTTOM!) but I kept myself in her skin. Lowered my voice. Worked quickly.
 
When we finally sat down, bathed and dressed and ready for mommy milk, I said, "I can see you are frustrated and so very angry." "I AM REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, REAAAAALLLYYYY ANGRY!!!!" she says.
 
"I know." I say. "That is okay. It is okay to be angry."
 
And she calmed. She nursed to sleep, with ragged breaths and occasional outbursts. When the worst was over, I started whsipering to her how much I love her. How proud I am of her. Of her learning, of her imagination, of her kind heart, of her sillyness. How she is doing such a great job being three, and she is in just the right place. How much her whole family loves her. That we will take care of her. That we will help her when she doesn't know what to do. Everything is going to be all right.
 
As she caught her breath, I realized I have grown, too. I have more stamina. More balance. More perspective. More confidence that This, This is the right way for me to parent my daughter. I realize that I am no longer the same mommy who once had a Very Bad Day; I am a Mommy who gives herself permission to be imperfect, who chooses to follow her heart, and doesn't feel the need to apologize for either. I realized that this parenting thing is a journey, and shortcomings don't have to be the end of the world.  It's okay. It's gonna be okay.

There will be more bad days, I'm sure. But I'm okay with posting this now, because parenting is a sum of it's parts. And tonight felt like redemption.