Mummy, Are You Happy (part one)

Last night marked our 8th wedding anniversary, which I marked by locking myself in my bedroom while Anja screamed about various aspects of dinner on the other side. Now, before you feel too horrified about our lack of meaningful anniversary time, Kirk and I plan on doing something "special" while his parents are visiting next week and can babysit the munchkin. In the meantime, Kirk had a community pediatric presentation last night and I had felt too tired to go to my pottery class - until dinner.

I've recently come to the conclusion that I hit the hard brick of my good-mommy wall right about dinner time, which, of course, corresponds with Anja hitting her no-whining wall. As we are often alone for dinner and bedtime (and even when we are not), this - combined with our mutual stubborness - can make for a lot of metaphorical bloody foreheads.

Last night, as with most nights, it started about not liking dinner (who hasn't heard that?), and quickly progressed to the "issue" of sitting on my lap at dinner. I know, I know, she is only three, what harm can it bring to let her sit on my lap every time she demands during a meal time? I know I have received more than one raised eyebrow at my obstinant dislike of this practice from Kirk. What he may not understand, however, is that it is not about the lap-sitting, and not even about the fact I would like to eat my dinner with fork and knife, but it is the issue of just wanting a teeny, tiny, little piece of myself that Anja doesn't demand. She, for instance, demands to eat breakfast with me (even though Kirk is already up getting ready for work and I could sleep that extra half-hour); she comes into the bathroom most times when I'm peeing and often narrates the experience, insists either of us lay with her until she falls asleep, which can take hours at the end of the day; she comes down into our room half-way through every night to sleep, etc, etc, etc. She talks and talks and talks and asks the same question over and over and over and over and over and over and over again all day long:
-Mummy, why aren't you finding a parking spot? (X3)
-Mummy, did I eat all my (insert food item here) when I was a baby? (X 10)
-Mummy, is (insert food here) a little bit healthy? It has no sugar? (X 10)
-Mummy, what are we doing today? (X20)
-Mummy, what are we doing tommorrow? (X15)
-Mummy, what are we doing next year? (X 2)

The problem is, I like silence, I like just thinking and being, and I've been feeling fairly annoyed all summer with what feels like constant nattering. Well, yesterday my suspicions yesterday that I was showing my annoyance way too much were confirmed. Yesterday, we had a little friend over and she started reacting to her friend's behaviour by yelling STOP! STOP IT RIGHT NOW! in the exact, totally exasperated tone I use with her. Oh, oh.

That shiny marble of truth rolled around my head for the rest of the afteroon, and by dinner time, I knew she was extra tired. Then commenced the battle about how much of what she ate, sitting on my lap, then wanting a hug. A hug, you say, what is so offensive about hugging a three year old? If I step back, and even in the moment, in the sane part of me, too, I realize I could just stop the whole match and give her a hug, but the stubborn part of me thinks "but then she wouldn't be eating her bloody dinner!" Which resulted last night in me screaming back after 45 minutes of being screamed at, then commencing the door-locking episode in an effort to save both myself and her. Which also resulted in my clear-as-day realization that the most negative influence in her life right now is me. Which resulted in sobbing on my part, sobbing on hers, an eventual hug and finishing of dinner, and Kirk coming home to finding me weeping while putting her in her pajamas. Which resulted in him sending me to pottery and me trimming the bottoms right out (ie punching holes out) of two of my bowls.

So. The question becomes not what is wrong with her, but what is wrong with me? She, after all, is only three, and I am supposed to be the one to guide her. I chose to create her. I chose to have her wiggle her way into every part of my life. I do love her more intensely than anything else in the world. Why can't I show that to her every day? Why do I get caught up in my own tantrums? What is it about me that I just can't let these things roll? Kirk is ever so good at diffusing situations through humour and playfulness. Why am I so woefully inadequate?

My doctor, who is also a psychologist (how lucky am I), said everyone gets impatient with their kids, and people who say they don't are lying. I myself have said to my good friend, who is now parenting alone due to the death of her husband, "of course you get impatient - look what you are dealing with." But I also know it sure doesn't feel good when you do yell at your kids, and it feels even worse when you see them modelling your bad behaviour.

I heard a panel discussion on the radio this evening about a new book titled something like "40 reasons never to have kids." One panelist said the great thing about having kids was that they dissassemble your personality, and it's up to you to put yourself back together again - leaving all the parts that don't work on the floor.

Can I do that? I am so scared of setting a precedent where we fight for the rest of our lives and she won't talk to me when she's a teenager or adult. Where her memories of me will be of me being stupid and small. I am so scared I won't be able to leave behind those greasy, gritty parts of me that are bad for her.

So, today when she asked "Mummy, are you happy?" I tried. I tried really, really hard not to sigh before answering her questions, to hug her when she fell instead of saying something along the lines of "I told you so." To make her laugh. To cuddle.

I'm sure going to try to be tomorrow, too.