The other night, I did something that I hated, and that I rarely ever do; I yelled at Lyla. Sure, she was having her hundredth "3-year-old moment" of the day, and my patience was on E, but what I really hated was how out of control I felt, when normally I am much more capable of keeping my cool.
It was late, already after her bedtime. Eric and I just put Hannah down and were getting the materials together for a special night-time-craft to do with Lyla. It involved the insides of a glow stick, which can be toxic, and Lyla was frustrated that she could not participate in this part of the craft. And she melted, with ear curdling screams. After a particularly rough day with several of these "moments", I had had enough. I got face to face with my toddler, and told her to knock it off. Not only was she frustrated, but so was I, because all I wanted to do was something special with her after a long day. The fear on her face pierced my heart - she's not used to me raising my voice in such a harsh, firm way. More waterworks came from this.
It's not so much that I yelled - I know parents are allowed to be firm with their kids. It's the overwhelming feeling I had at how little patience I had for her behavior. KNOCK IT OFF; those 3 words, words I usually use on the dog, came bubbling up like a volcano ready to erupt. I felt like I had failed as a parent, because I couldn't control it. "Word vomit", as Mean Girls would have called it. If I felt this way, why didn't I just walk away? Go in the other room, take a few deep breaths; just remove myself from the overwhelming feeling I had? I was powerless to my exhaustion, frustration, and overwhelmingly low patience.
I am especially aware of this out of control feeling since I have been practicing more mindfulness and staying present. Those 3 harsh words made me feel like I took several steps backwards. No mama-zen in that moment, that's for sure. I felt like I had undone my entire day; my day of staying calm, my day of explaining Lyla's frustration to her, my day of hard work and patience - it was all gone in my harsh tone. knock it off. Now not only was I frustrated with Lyla, but I was upset with myself.
Eric thought this was actually a good moment - he says it showed that I was human. He said that with the abundance of patience I have, the frustration is bound to build up and come out eventually. True, I guess. And I also guess that I can't be the super-mom I wish to be 100% of the time. In the perfect world, every frustration that came from my toddler's defiance and temper tantrums could be cured through exercise, yoga, and breathing techniques (and maybe the occasional glass of wine) - but the world's not perfect and neither am I.
Needless to say, life went on. We both calmed down, kissed, and made up. We did our craft, and had fun dancing in the dark wrapped in left over glow sticks. I always say that every argument Eric and I get in, we come out stronger. Well, that sort of applies here, too; ever since my "word vomit" episode, I have made a more sincere effort to stay calm, and to take every terrible 3 year old moment for what it is - just that, a 3 year old moment.
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