Today I shouted at George, like, really really shouted.
To be fair, he was being a turd of the stinkiest kind, tantrumming about toys, pushing Bee over, refusing to have some time in his room to think about how to be kind to his Brother.
I always feel horribly guilty when I shout. With a mixture of flashbacks to my abusive Mother’s behaviour (which inevitably ended up with much worse than just shouting), and panic that I have another 18 years of attempting to parent, I feel out of my depth.
I long to be a gentle parent, who never loses my cool. I wish I could stay calm and rational every time I am kicked or screamed at by a tired toddler. I wish I didn’t resort to shouting just to get them to listen to me.
After we both stopped being angry, I scooped George up onto my knee and we both cried. I told him I was sorry for shouting so loud, and he said he was sorry for hurting Bee. We talked about why we made the choices we did, and what we could have done differently. He said “sometimes I just don’t do the right things”…Me too, Kiddo!
I’m never going to be my idea of the perfect parent, and have accepted that sometimes, I’m going to have to shout. It is my actions afterwards that will shape these boys. Having me apologise if i shout too loud, or explaining why I needed certain things to be actioned once we are all much calmer. Most importantly, reminding them that I love them no matter what, and that they are the reason I live.
So, fellow crappy Mamas, here is to tomorrow. It will be better.