Tantrums lately have been epic. If you have a toddler, I don’t need to explain.
You get it.
I lost my shit last week with my daughter when a tantrum that began because I thought maybe the seventeen thousand layers of multiple flavors of chapstick she had applied was sufficient ended with my sweet little girl violently hitting me and attempting to kick my big ol pregnant belly.
I lost it.
I am not a yeller, but I yelled. There was no stoic, calm voice, empathy for her frustration was doing JACK SHIT to calm her, and I had not one single solitary bit of patience left in my 8 months pregnant body. And as I escorted her to her room as she screamed and wailed I felt not one ounce of the shame and guilt I usually do for not being able to gently and quietly handle her fit.
Instead I gave myself a little head nod and said to myself “You are doing fine.”
I thought about my daughter and sent her telepathic waves of, “I fucking get it, girlfriend. If I was 2 years old and it was socially acceptable, I would be losing my shit like you too. I get it.” But at the same time, I don’t have the reserves to handle this right now in a “better” way. Sorry, fresh out of reserves. And that’s life, pumpkin. Not everyone you deal with is going to have limitless compassion and patience and ability to withstand earsplitting screams and attempts at physical violence. That’s not really how life works. And I know you are only 2.5, and many days I am able to respond in a way that only a human who shares half of your DNA is capable of, but today is not that day.
Daughter of mine, who I love in the most primal and purest of ways – I don’t have it all figured out. Nobody does and if they tell you they do I’d suggest nodding politely and then steering your time towards people who are less, shall we say, stupid. I have breaking points and limits and motherhood pushes you so far beyond these points you thought you had that it both amazes and terrifies you.
I am a human, like you. I will lose my shit again, I can promise you this. Hopefully the losing my shit moments are peppered sparsely between countless warm and fuzzy encounters, but they will be there, of this I am sure.
After you came out of your room you tearfully apologized to me and I would love to say things were sunny and joyful the rest of the day, but they weren’t. Just one of those days, sweetheart. You know.
I’m a really good mom, and you’re a really good daughter. And when I say “good” I don’t mean obedient and sweet, although you are those things too. I mean we are both inherently good people.
Even when we tantrum as a 2.5-year-old.
Or as a 30-year-old.
We are good and I am proud of us, daughter.