It was yet another chaotic morning as I rushed to get my older kids ready for school. Breakfasts needed to be made, homework was still unfinished, and lunches had to be packed. Nothing particularly remarkable about that day; we had just returned from visiting my husband’s family in Scotland and I felt both jetlagged and irritable. With my husband away on a work trip, I was left to handle everything on my own. I had so many reasons for feeling overwhelmed.
My youngest son, who had recently turned four, was recovering from an ear infection. The pharmacy had neglected to flavor his medicine, so getting him to take his antibiotic had turned into a battle of wills. I tried everything—bribery, coaxing, even begging. After what felt like an eternity of tears, he finally consumed the yogurt-and-strawberry mixture. This was supposed to be his first day back at Pre-K after two long weeks.
As we headed to his bedroom to get him dressed, I remembered that he had started wearing a uniform just before our trip. However, its novelty had clearly worn off. I laid out his shirt, and immediately, he burst into tears. “I no want to wear this shirt, Mama!” he shouted, his tiny fists clenched. I took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. I explained, as clearly as one can to a toddler, that everyone in his class had to wear the same outfit. I even threw in a little blame on the teacher, hoping to ease the situation. But my words fell on deaf ears; the tears continued to flow, and every time I moved closer to him, he thrashed about.
I found myself sitting on the floor, feeling time slip away. Glancing at the clock, I realized I had mere minutes left to get him dressed and out the door before my conference call. In a moment of desperation, I attempted to hold him between my legs to pull the shirt over his head. He arched back, and his head collided with my nose. In an instant of pain and frustration, I smacked him hard on the back. The sound echoed, and his wide brown eyes locked onto mine as he began to wail. I sat there, stunned, feeling both surprised and disgusted by my own actions.
With shaky hands, I managed to get the shirt on him and carried him, still crying, to the car. During the short drive to school, I tried to explain myself. “I’m sorry, buddy, but Mommy is late for work. If I don’t go to work, I could get in trouble. Do you want Mommy to be in trouble?” Not only had I broken his trust, but I was also hinting that it was somehow his fault.
By the time we arrived at school, his tears had subsided. We walked silently to his classroom, and as we turned the corner, his little fingers intertwined with mine. My heart sank—what had I done?
Once back in the car, I succumbed to tears. What kind of person was I? Would he ever see me the same way again? Should I skip work to spend the day making it up to him? But that wasn’t feasible. I had crossed a line—I was supposed to be his protector, and there was no way to undo what had happened.
When my husband called to check on us, I couldn’t bring myself to share my shame. What kind of mother slaps her child? It was a mistake I felt a thousand apologies couldn’t mend. I’m not a violent person; that’s not who I am or how I want to behave.
Later that day, as I picked him up from school, I spotted him playing on the playground. He saw me and came running, jumping into my arms. In that moment, I felt both elation and crushing guilt. There was no rationalizing what had happened.
I understand that parenting is a journey fraught with challenges, and losing one’s temper is part of the experience. With three children, there have been countless similar moments where I managed to keep my cool. But that day, I made a choice I deeply regret—one that will linger in my memory for a long time.
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Summary:
In a moment of frustration during a hectic morning, a mother recounts the day she lost her temper and struck her young son. Overwhelmed with the pressures of parenting, she reflects on her actions and the emotional fallout they caused. The experience serves as a reminder of the challenges of parenthood and the importance of maintaining composure, even in difficult times.