I Was Wrong

My daughter slapped me across the face yesterday. Literally, slapped me across the face. I was pissed. I looked at her like I was in pure crazy mode & the surprise on her face shut my crazy down in a hurry. I was going to yell. I was going to grab that same hand that slapped my face and drag her to time out. I was pissed. But when I saw that look upon her face, all I suddenly felt was guilt. 

Moments leading up to this my twins were crying uncontrollably. I was spit up on. I had gotten poop on my hand while changing a diaper. & it was Friday. The all time slowest day of my week. She wanted to read. I wanted to sit and hold babies who hadn't stopped crying for 25 minutes because I needed my sanity, I needed happiness. I said, "Mommy can not hold and read to you right now. I need to help your bubbie and sissy." SLAPPPP!

I couldn't believe it. I was in shock, I was infuriated, I was hurt, I was in an element unknown to anyone except a mother. I looked at her face and all I saw was my baby who needed me. 

I did tell her we DO NOT hit. But then I asked the question, "Why? Why did you hit mommy?" 

"I want to read."

I told her we don't always get what we want. We have to have patience. We have to be respectful of the time of others. We have to be loving. We have to use gentle hands and kind words. We have to share mommy. 

I lost it there. I started crying and I hugged my usually sweet J. She never asked to have to share me. That was a choice I made. That was a choice my husband made. But she, she did not make that choice. 

She has no idea why I can't do everything at all times for her. Although she is always trying to care for her bubbie and sissy, she is human. Humans have breaking points. Humans have feelings. Humans have needs. I have not been meeting her needs. 

This is not one instance where I can totally know this. Once I starting thinking, I realized how incompetent as her mother I've been. She's always asking for other people. Daddy, Nonnie, Papa, Papi...I hated it. But she wanted me there. If I left, she asked about me. Wanted me. But if I was there, she wouldn't play with me. But I knew why she played with them, she gets undivided attention. No one is rushing off to clean spit up off the floor. They don't sit in a chair and rock babies while she plays alone. I knew why, I just put it in the back of my mind and buried it. Because I was doing what I needed to do. I was trying. & until yesterday, that was enough for me.

I told myself that when Joe came home, she needed time with him. She needed his attention because I gave her mine intermittently throughout the day. 

I was wrong. 

She needs my attention because intermittently isn't enough. She deserves more. She deserves a mother who showers her with love, with attention, with kindness. I tell her I love her, I do things for and with her. But I am not always kind, I am worn out on most days and I lose my temper when I shouldn't. I am not always able to show full attention. & I expected her to understand for someone unknown reason. I was wrong. 

Here's the thing about explaining to your 2 (almost) year old that you were wrong: you can't. She doesn't understand. She understands I'm sorry, which I did say. But she will never understand how much guilt or just how sorry I actually am until she is a mother. But what she can understand are my actions. She watches my every move. She wants to be me. She cooks, she cleans, she cares for babies, she loves. She loves me so much and all I saw was her wanting others. I didn't see a heart that was aching for mommy. 

I see it now beautiful girl, I see it now. 

Today, I did not baby wear and push a stroller while she walked with Joe at the museum. I walked and we talked. We looked at the flowers and we looked at the art. We spent time, undivided time. Today, I did not sit with the twins while at the splash pad while Joe took her to play.  I played. We had fun. We had so much fun. She hugged me for no reason. She told me, "Mommy awesome!". Which in her tiny vocabulary means, "Mommy you are awesome." My heart could've burst. 

Tomorrow, I will take time just for her. The next day, I will do it again. & the day after that. & the day after that. You see, I was wrong. I was totally and completely wrong. But I did not fail. Failing would mean I gave up. Failing would mean that I do not admit my shortcomings as a mother. Failing would imply that I am not willing to change. 

I was wrong, but I can fix this. She might remember all the times I'm wrong as her mother, but I know she'll also remember how I came back from it. If all I can teach her from my shortcomings is how to come back from them, I think that's a pretty good lesson. 

XOXOX, 

Harmon Housewife