Yesterday, my son made me cry. In many ways, he's a typical rambunctious toddler, and I am a typical first-time mom. He was being manic, in that typical toddler way, running around, stomping, squealing, and throwing his ball. I was enjoying watching him be him, while we took a break from unpacking. Then he threw his heavy metal sippy- at my face. It hurt, and almost gave me a fat lip. I yelled at him, like I would yell at anyone who assaulted me. His little face crumpled, and then he started to wail.
I am not a perfect parent. I yell and say no more than I want to. (Especially in this last week, with the house being a minefield of boxes of fragile things that a toddler could destroy so easily. Our house was not set up to be the "yes environment" that he is used to and that I want for him. Thankfully, with lots of hard work and effort from my partner and myself, it is now set up- just as my partner returns to his job.) My episodes that I am not ashamed of, while they happen more often than I like, only last a few minutes- then I remember the parent that I want to be. I feel shame in these moments, and wonder if I will leave emotional scars.
Our day ended well. We decided to walk to the park that is a mere half block away and asked the neighbors if they would like to come. They said that they were on their way out for a walk, so we combined the outings- a walk around the neighborhood that ended at the park. My son seems a little crushed out on their 4 year old daughter and kept saying her name and chasing her through the park. On the occasions that Rowan fell down, he ran to me and I kissed his "owies" to make them better. That trick always works and he runs away smiling. He looks to me for comfort when he is in distress, and that tells me that I am doing more good than harm, I think.