Don’t think I’m a bad mummy

A tantrumming toddler clinging to his mother's legs

Tantruming toddler. Image by Francisco Carbajal, licenced by Creative Commons

Dear lovely mummy I was chatting with yesterday, I could tell from the look on your face you were horrified when I snapped at W.

She is only three. What you don’t know is she had pressed all my button since waking that morning.

It was pretty rough the previous night, too.

So when she climbed out of the car seat after being asked nicely to sit in it four times, yes, I did snap “get in your seat”.

You were lovely, on the crunchy spectrum talking about schools without uniform and freedom of expression.

I love the way my daughter expresses herself. She is wonderful and creative.

But, you know, sometimes I lose my shit.

When she rarely melts down, I cuddle and talk about her big feelings.

At other times I just want to yell “just eat your dinner”.

I grew up being yelled at and hit for random transgressions.

Every day I don’t lash out is a victory.

We’re past the three-and-a-half year mark now.

There are times when she pushes her luck and I’m okay, I can handle it.

Some days aren’t so good.

Forgive me for my five-minute failure. I felt so judged but I beat myself up about it, too.

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