When did this become okay?

When did this become okay?

My daughter has decided that hitting, kicking, scratching, and pinching are okay.

Aside from the obvious problems (it hurts, it’s not okay, it makes me angry, and it really tests my patience), I would really like to know where she learned to do it!

She doesn’t go to daycare. My husband and I do not hit her (or each other, for that matter). The only kind of physical punishment this kid has ever seen is getting tapped firmly on the hand if she does something dangerous (like try to open the oven or turn on the heater or try to stick her fingers in the fan) along with a stern “no!” She doesn’t watch television. She is rarely around other children, and when she is, she’s not getting pushed around or hitting any kids.

She doesn’t really hit my husband either. It’s just her mama who gets the brunt of her fury. Today, in the space of an hour, she hit me in the face, tried to scratch my face, grabbed my arm with her fingers clawed so her nails dug in and squeezed with this determined and very angry look on her face, kicked me when I tried to change her diaper, and head butted me. Though I think the head butting was an accident, it came after a long line of not accidents, and it caught me right in my mouth and hurt worse than any of the other stuff.

I’m at a loss. Disciplining her when she is still so little is tough. I tell her no, and if she hits, I take her hands in mine and (after saying no firmly), show her “gentle touch” by helping her touch my face softly. She likes that, and she copies me with her free hand. And she might stop hitting for a while after I show her that, but she starts up again eventually.

Is it just a phase? I don’t understand why she hits me and not her dad. And she pinched my mother-in-law a couple weeks ago, but as far as I know, other than that, it’s only me.

I mean, most of the time she doesn’t do that. But when she gets tired or angry, she does. I just can’t understand it.

I wish someone had warned me that the terrible twos started just after your baby turned one, and got worse as you neared the 18 month mark. I could have prepared myself better.

If anyone has any gentle suggestions for teaching her that hitting isn’t okay, I would love to hear them. I’m getting sore from all her jabs.

Beat Up Mommy

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Miss B Bee

Miss B Bee

To My Darling Daughter,

Tonight, you woke up twice, crying out for me. I went to you, checked your diaper, offered you a drink. You didn’t need a diaper, you didn’t need a drink. I picked you up out of your crib, and you dragged your blanket with you.

I held you close, and you snuggled closer. You didn’t need anything. You just wanted to snuggle.

I sat down in our rocking chair, and we both got comfortable. You stretched yourself out, with your head snuggled next to my chest, and your legs hanging off of my lap. I remember when you were born, and I would swaddle you up and you would snuggle on my chest and not even reach my lap.

We rocked and rocked and snuggled. I sang your favorite lullaby. You touched my face and patted my arm. Your eyes started to close.

I stood up and walked to your crib. You grabbed a fistful of my shirt. You didn’t want me to put you down. I didn’t want to put you down yet either. Cradling you in my arms, I realized how fast you are growing. I realized that soon, you will be too big to cradle like a baby anymore; in fact, you’re close to being too big already.

You drifted off to sleep, but I held you for a little while longer, watching you sleep. Enjoying being your mommy. Getting my B snuggles in while I can.

I put you back in your crib and tiptoed out of the room.

When you woke up again an hour later, we repeated the process, only this time, we both fell asleep in the rocking chair. When I woke up a few minutes later, you had snuggled your face against mine, and you had your little hand wrapped up in my shirt again.

Since you’ll only be this small for a little while longer, since you’re growing up so fast, since I’m missing too many moments and opportunities to just enjoy holding you…I let you sleep on my shoulder for half an hour before I could force myself to gently put you back in your bed, so we could both get some proper sleep.

It’s the little moments, baby girl, more than anything, that make me so happy, so incredibly grateful, make me feel so lucky to be your mommy. You make my heart feel full, little one. You make mama’s heart happy.

Thank you for the snuggles. Thank you for the loves. Thank you baby, just for being you.

I love you,

Mommy

Still Grieving

Still Grieving

People are strange, and sometimes completely inconsiderate.

I am so very tired of being told that I should be “over it by now” when I have a bad day/moment/hour/whatever because I’m thinking about the baby we lost to miscarriage.

I realize that to you, it wasn’t a baby yet. I was only a few weeks along. I wasn’t showing yet. Heck, I had only known I was pregnant for a very short amount of time.

It doesn’t matter.

To me, the moment that I found out I was pregnant, it was my baby.

I wondered if the baby would be a boy or a girl, if B would have a little brother or a little sister. I wondered if he or she would look like their sister. I wondered if they would look more like me or more like D. I imagined our family growing from a family of three to a family of four, daydreamed about it, was so very happy and nervous and looking forward to going through the whole journey of pregnancy again.

I was happy…

And then, it was all ripped away. I tried to cling to hope after that first phone call to the doctor, even after I went in to have my blood drawn and saw the unwanted sympathy on the woman’s face, and even that night, when the cramps were so terrible I was retching…I tried to tell myself it was a mistake and they would call me tomorrow and tell me that everything was fine. Even when I knew the baby was gone, I hoped for a miracle.

I didn’t get my miracle.

I listened numbly to the nurse on the phone who was trying to gently explain to me that I had a miscarriage and what to expect over the next couple days. She asked me if I had any questions and I said no, even though I wanted to ask her “Why? What did I do wrong?”

I know that miscarriages are common. 1 in 3 pregnancies ends in miscarriage. Knowing the figures doesn’t help when it’s your heart shattering into a million little pieces, when it’s your body that you feel like betrayed you, when it’s your baby who is gone.

So yes.

I’m still sad. And on June 8th, when the baby was supposed to be due, I will likely be curled up in a little ball on my bed, sobbing hysterically, at least for a little while.

I dare you to judge me.

I will take as much time as I need to heal, and screw anyone who says I should “be over it.”

I’m still grieving.