I love my children. It's a kind of love I never even believed was possible - all consuming, every fibre of my being, so fierce it physically hurts.
But my god, sometimes a little piece of me wants to drop kick them.
Why is it that these beautiful angels that we nurture and give birth to and do absolutely everything that we possibly can for, can suddenly turn into the epitome of evil? Current battles with my almost-seven year old even stretch so far as to include real emotional wounds. Why?!
I know I'm not alone in this. Friends with children report the same things, the same pain, the same silent tears after little R has told me I am fat and ugly and she'd rather live with Daddy because Mummy is horrible and she wishes I was dead.
And when your children play up in public places, what the hell are you supposed to do? The angry whispers in their ears whilst you smile apologetically at strangers who are giving you dirty looks and being all judgy.
I've started a new technique, that seems to be working quite well. If nothing else, it makes people feel awkward enough to disappear quickly.
Little almost-two years old S was recently kicking off big style in the middle of Tesco. Someone asked me if she was tired, to which I just replied "she's just being a bit of a shit at the minute. She'll grow out of it."
I picked her up, kissed her little curly stressy head, and stomped off to the next aisle. Feeling like a million dollars.
Have you tried it?
L xx
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