“I ain’t got nothing fun to do,” my three year old said with a whine, as if the world was close to crashing down upon her in an avalanche of boredom.
She threw herself down on the couch dramatically, a swan-dive of surrender to her plight.
“Why don’t you go play in your room with all your toys,” I said invitingly.
She blew out her air in exasperation and breathed, “that’s not any fun.”
So, I did it. I pulled out the big guns and replied, “Well maybe I’ll give all your toys away to some little kid who thinks they’re fun!”
As soon as the words exited my mouth I almost dropped to the floor in shock. The expression on my face never changed, lest she call my bluff, but I was stunned at what I had just spoken.
The words! It sounded like something straight from my mom’s mouth. I had always been able to see through such ruses as far as I could recall, and had actually considered them eye-roll worthy (though never where she could see), yet there I was pulling the same maternal threat.
As she rambled on about going to her room to play, I sunk back into the sofa and asked myself when exactly did I become my mother?!
When did I start counting 1,2,3 to get my child’s undivided attention? And more importantly how did I gain the mojo that makes this actually work and demand adherence to my call?
When did I start saying things like:
I’m gonna spank you so hard you’ll cry for a week!
I’m gonna spank you so hard you’ll wish you had never been born!
I’m gonna spank you so hard, when you stop spinning your clothes’ll be outta style!
I’m gonna spank you so hard, well… I don’t know what! But it’ll be bad!
But I’ll do no such thing, will I?!
When in the world did I stop being number one to me? When did I stop only caring about myself, and instead put another person first?
When did my personal appearance stop being so important, and instead my concerns became over if her cute tights look better with brown boots or black boots?
Not that it matters really since I’ll end up letting her wear the pink boots anyway (they’re her favorite you know).
When did the girl who hated the idea of planning her own wedding become excited over putting together details for a 1st birthday party?
The snowflakes and snowmen were Pinterest perfect!
When did I decide that helping to color the best pink puppy you ever saw was much more interesting than kicking back on the couch with multiple episodes of Forensic Files or Dr. G, Medical Examiner?
Puppies really do look better pink, don’t they?
When did the girl who sometimes ate a broccoli and cheese Hot Pocket or a package of peanut butter crackers for dinner and didn’t bat an eyelash all the sudden start cooking full coarse meals? Like healthy ones. And often different ones for different taste bud choices!
When did I start caring what little people thought of me?
Do they love me like I love them?
Am I doing a good job? I wonder if they think I’m doing a good job?
Oh God! I’m not scarring them for life, am I?
Shortly after our toy conversation I had to get onto my daughter for some other minor infraction. She was not pleased.
“You’re mean! I’m not going to play with you anymore!” she exclaimed.
I felt a piece of my heart fracture, but blankly replied, “ok.”
I watched her silently as she looked down and contemplated her rash decision.
Then she looked up at me and smiled. She walked over to me, plopping into my open lap, and planted a sweet kiss directly onto my stern lips.
I don’t know exactly when it all changed. I can’t pinpoint an exact moment I stopped being my former self and instead became a mirror of the first selfless love I knew.
I don’t know when I became my mother. A mother. But as I sat there holding my passionate, independent young lady on my knees I realized maybe being my mom isn’t so bad.
Kristen lothenore says
Love it 🙂
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you 🙂