Sunny Skies Ahead
My daughter and I.
It happened to us yesterday. I’ve heard it through the grapevine and about it from other moms. Now it was my turn.
I had the screaming child in the store.
The wild two 1/2 year old toddler. The one who throws something off the shelf and falls to the floor wailing because I stopped her from grabbing at a wine glass. On her way down, she slaps an entire row of boxes down which scatter the contents all over the floor of the aisle. She protests that ruckus even louder. My cheeks went hot and the bead of sweat formed on my spine as an older gentleman made a comment about my daughter needing to be quiet. Her red screaming tearful face and bloodshot blue eyes were breaking my heart simultaneously as I felt frustration take over and honestly form into a moment of anger at my sweet baby. What happened to my infant, who used to lay there bundled up and wide-eyed? How can it be that we can communicate now, but the answer was no, and so this was her response. It felt intentional at me, even though I know it wasn’t. It felt pointed at me, from her and just for that moment, I felt defied. I felt betrayed. You know that moment when he can feel other people staring at you?
The truth is, my patience was absolutely exhausted. I’ve been balancing energy between her and work and home, it’s been days of this. We’re in the thick of “learning independence” and “practicing patience” and it all just came welling up during this meltdown. At home, I welcome learning opportunities like this about fragility and materials. We learn and hold things and do. But there at the store, this was a hard, loud moment of impulse in full public demonstration. On wide open display. It was a performance.
No matter what my action would be it was bound to be judged.
So we had to regroup. I held her, despite her flailing, and held her tight. Explaining. Teaching. Reiterating. Instructing. Staying calm. Using a stern voice. Repeating. Singsong-ing. It helped (maybe more me, than her, but it did). But it was still hard. It wasn’t perfect. I forgot half of my groceries after that and we struggled again in the next aisle.
Why did we come out today? I should have waited until this weekend when I could go alone. She reached up as if to swat at me. I regretted her presence for a fleeting moment. And then immense guilt creeped in, for that.
She is the blood of my blood. She’s a part of me, and my husband. She’s my one shot at learning how to do this while paving the way for a successful childhood. She’s my one shot at teaching things correctly and I knew this was a teaching moment. But it didn’t make it easier. Even with how much I love her.
If you thought you’d hear some perfect plan of action and advice on how to react when this happens... I don’t have it. But just know these testing moments will happen to all of us as we raise and rear these babes, and there truly is no perfect way to handle it.
If I see another mom someday having this moment.. I’ll pick up the boxes from the floor and tell her she’s not alone. I’ll give her a hand, see her through the screams and tell her - there is tomorrow and the next day, it will all be new tomorrow.
It will be sunny during this season of storms.
I promise.
Flashback to my cheery little gal and I dancing the days away (Liberty, at 1.5 years old)