Passing of the Storm

I know it's going to be a tough week when Yums goes to bed crying, surpasses the deranged neighborhood rooster's efficiency in awakening everyone on the street in the middle of the night, wakes up in the morning bawling her eyes out, and spends the rest of the day throwing one nonsensical tantrum or another. 

I've tried every method in the book to try and steer the menacing week ahead in a more calm direction, but on most days the storm clouds just don't clear out.  Sometimes, I feel like throwing in the towel and hiding behind my laptop screen.  In fact, that's exactly what I do, making sure to peek up over the top edge occasionally in case the bonsai grinch is hurtling towards me with her toy hammer.

Recently, my patience is at an all-time low, compunded by the two F's - flu and fasting.  I've unleashed the cracken this week more times than I can count on one hand, and I'm certain everyone on the street knows it.  Of course, I feel sick to the stomach afterwards. First comes the guilt, and in that moment the irony of it all hits me with painful clarity - I've just reinforced the exact opposite of what I want my toddler to do if she isn't getting her way.  Then comes a nauseating dread as I mentally list the pros and cons of what action I should take next.  Should I run to her, hug her, apologize, and offer a feeble excuse for my behavior (Mama's hungry, Mama's sick, Mama's just tired)?  Should I offer a Kit-Kat bribe as atonement and then pretend nothing happened?  Or should I just let us breathe in the charged and leaden atmosphere for a few minutes before I read the guilty her charges? 

Shoulda, coulda, woulda.....

Everything changes when Yums takes charge of the situation.  This doesn't happen always, but when it does, it moves me to tears.  As I sit there, high-strung and remorse-stricken, I barely hear the soft patter of footsteps approaching me.  My daughter's kiss wipes the slate clean for both of us.  In her guarded, innocent act she single-handedly offers mutual redemption.  Needless to say I crumble like shortbread and shamelessly grab the opportunity.  Okay, not shamelessly, but with a renewed determination to set things right.  I amalgamate the lists I've been making in my head, and apologize to my baby girl.  I tell her there is no excuse for my behavior, and we snuggle close, her favorite book in my hand, and a bar of Kit-Kat in hers.

Tomorrow's going to be better, I usually say out loud.  I'm not sure if it's meant for her or for me, but it's reassuring nevertheless, because three minutes into the book, she's asleep, the half-eaten chocolate wafer balanced between her lips. 

Motherhood is by far the most challenging thing I've had to do, but it's just as easy to forget that childhood's a frustrating phase too.  Yes, tomorrow will definitely be better, because this epiphany will linger long after the dust has settled.