My almost five-year-old and I fought so bad tonight (technically, yesterday). I was making her drink her milk when she refused and instead, intentionally spilled it on our new couch! I felt my now-lost blood immediately rushed through my nape. It hit the spot where it told me to yell. "What did you do?!?! Why do you have to do that?!?!? Look at what you've done!!!!" And my baby girl, shocked and not knowing what to answer, cried - as loud as I shouted. Like a pinball hitting the jackpot, an aphrodisiac to my anger - I told her to go to her room and fix her toys instead while I was cleaning up.
In her room, I heard a loud bang. She opened her window and was tapping the roof of the kitchen! My jaw was clenching like a tuna from GenSan when I saw her. What made me feel worse was that she didn't know I was already furious! The unbelievable happened.
I gave justice to my stress. My slippers talked to her butt: 5 light times.
It sounded like I'm such a mean mom. Yes, stone me to death all you want, oblige me! I really felt the worst. I feel so bad for doing that, for hearing her weeping like a widow and when she was catching breath 'cause of too much crying, she uttered in between hiccups "Nanay, you're making me die." Oh God, You know how I dreaded that moment. I wanted to bury myself in darkness. I didn't know what she could have been thinking of me. Did I look like Rapunzel's fake mom who locked her in the tower? Or Ravena in Snow White and the Huntsman? I hope none of the two.
What I've learned from what happened was that kids can only remember their first offense.
We talked after the slippers-to-butt conversation and she bawled like crazy when I asked her why I got mad. She said while wiping her nose, "beecohs I speelled my milk on the couch. T'was accident, Nay." I hugged her and cleaned her up. Perhaps she knows we were not okay that she faced the wall and slept on her own. I sensed the awkwardness and showered her with kisses and hugs and sweet nothings - until she fell asleep in my arms, like she used to when she was a baby.
When you get to read this someday, my dear Sophia, I want to let you know how I am trying my best to discipline you. We're not enemies, okay? As much as I would like us to be best shopping buddies and all, I need to to do my job as a parent to you. Your father will kill me if you'll grow up with a bratty-tude. I hope when you become a mother someday, you will never ever be like me. I'm sure you can find an alternative discipline tactic. Just pray your child will not as rowdy as you are, or else you'll be like me. Hunny, I love you is an understatement.
