Sunday started well.
A beautiful sunny day.
I decided we'd go to the park for a BBQ.
The park is about 2kms from our home.
We ate and we played and we had a lovely time.
When there's 7 kids there's always someone to play with.
We sat, cuddled and crawled.
We had such a lovely time.
When it was time to go home.
Michael didn't want to go!
Now a three year old who doesn't want to do something is not going to co-operate.
He refused to walk home.
I put him in the pram and he kicked and wiggled and tried to climb out.
He was rocking the pram so badly I was worried he'd tip it with Heather in it.
I smacked him hoping it would shock him into stopping but it just made him worse.
I smacked him, because I was angry.
I wanted control over the situation.
I'm ashamed of myself.
I don't believe in smacking, I know it doesn't work.
It's me venting my frustration.
I had to get him out of the pram.
He kicked and punched at me as I tried to take him from the toddler seat on the pram and I ended up dropping him! Luckily he wasn't hurt.
He still refused to walk.
I had to carry him kicking, punching and screaming all the way home.
An uncoperative toddler weighs a fair bit.
I tried to put him down and pretend we were going to walk home without him.
He turned and ran back towards the park.
I had to run after him and pick him back up.
The whole time he's screaming. "No, I want park!"
We get home.
I locked the front door.
I grabbed the phone to ring Pete to have a good cry.
I heard the front door open.
Michael had opened the chain, the deadlock and the handle.
I caught him opening the front gate.
I gave him a bath to try and calm him down.
It didn't work.
I put on his favorite cartoon, it didn't work.
He continued to scream, "I want park!"
Afraid I'm going to loose it and smack him again.
I walked away and fed Heather who was also crying.
Michael followed me and stood beside my chair screaming.
Then he went quiet. He had fallen asleep standing up!
He woke about ten minutes later and was happy to sit and watch his cartoon.
The day started well.
When Michael got up on Monday his first words.."We go park now!"
I don't think we'll be going for awhile and when we go again I'll take the car.
My shoulders and arms were very sore and I have bruises from the kicks.
I didn't handle the whole situation very well.
I find parenting hard.
I didn't get a personality transplant when I gave birth.
Placing that wonderful bundle into my arms didn't instantly make me the most patient loving, self sacrificing person in the world.
Giving birth didn't make me a perfect mother who would always know what to do.
And even after the seventh I still have so much to learn.
Every day I wake with the intention of being the best mother I can be.
Sometimes I do well and sometimes I totally fail.
Smacking is being a total failure as a parent to me.
I'm supposed to be the person my child loves and trusts the most in this world.
I wouldn't let a total stranger hit my child but I who is supposed to love them the most did it.
I'm feeling brave writing this.
A warts and all.
I know my parenting decisions will be judged unacceptable by many.
There will be people who think I'm a terrible person for smacking.
There will be people who think I should smack more.
There will be people who think that if I had taken a deep breath at the beginning and handled Michael better. If I'd distracted him with the ball and had him kick the ball home I may of averted the whole sad saga to start with. (and I agree with you!)
I know many also find parenting hard and hope, that in reading this, they can feel less alone in their journey to being the parent they want to be.