There were times before where I know I got close, but today it happened.
I reached the end of my rope.
And then I became someone I never wanted to become; a Mommy Monster.
I yelled. I held her too tight, I let her drop from my arms onto the bed below. I yelled. I stomped my feet. I sobbed.
I was not the best version of myself. I wasn’t even the mediocre version of myself.
I was a horrible red faced sweating cursing evil end of my rope version of myself.
Would it matter if I told you that this fit was edging into it’s second full hour of screaming? No. Or how many times I had tried to calm her down? No… because she is the toddler and I am the adult and I didn’t act like an adult. At least not like an adult I would feel good about leaving my child with.
I am full of loathing. For myself and my actions. For my inability to cope with a child who is almost as stubborn as I am. For my lack of patience.
I look at her now, eating her peas and glancing up at me while I type.
She is still flushed from the fight, her hair is matted, teas still on her face.
A perfect reflection of myself.
I wipe my eyes.
Ella, I say, trying to keep my voice calm and without cracks.
Ella, I’m sorry I was not a good version of myself. I should not have yelled at you.
Yeah, she says, her voice small. I’m sorry you yelled at me too.
What about all the yelling you did to me? I want to … yell. But I don’t.
Umm, what about your fit, I ask, are you sorry about that.
And now, because it has been a while and because I called a fellow mom and cried and because I have taken my requisite number of deep breaths, and because I am the adult, I close my eyes for a moment and feel my rope of patience, the rope of every moment is a teaching moment, the rope of sanity un-spool itself from around my neck and stretch out before me.
Would you like more peas?
Yes, and can I have more water please?