The Fit

When H was more or less B's age, and would throw a tantrum at home for whatever reason, I'd walk away. Leave her to her own devices until she was ready to be happy again.

A lot of people had advised this technique. I thought I was teaching her how to behave. Making it clear that fits would not get her her way.

I thank God routinely for helping me become a better mother than I was then.

I know better now.

I was teaching my daughter that I only loved her (in her eyes) when she was happy and pleasing to be around. I was teaching her that her emotions were not valid and that she shouldn't express them.

It did not teach her to not throw tantrums, that's for sure.

I can't remember the last time H had a real, screaming, crying, flailing tantrum. I guess she's mostly outgrown them. And now she has her amazing words and reasoning skills. She has no qualms saying, "Hey, Momma, listen to me! You're not listening!" I love that. I love that she feels safe and secure enough to call me out when I'm being too impatient or not attentive enough. I love that she easily conveys her emotions and that when she feels like I'm not being fair she tells me.

B has just begun the era of tantrums. A bit later than H did.

They've been much more mellow than his sister's.

Until today.

Today Mr. B wanted to bang on computer keyboards.

We have a designated kid laptop that they have destroyed to bits and is theirs to utilize in any which way they so choose.

But he wanted to play on Mommy's.

I gently told him that Momma's computer was not for playing but he could play with his.

B was having none of it.

He let out the shrillest scream I've ever heard. He flailed and screamed and sobbed. He looked like a fish out of water on our library floor.

Once upon a time I'd have just walked away.

But this time I just sat down on the floor, giving him the space he needed.

"Momma's here when you're done, B," I said softly.

He looked at me with venom in his eyes and continued on with the mother of all fits. I sat, watching him, watching the minutes tick by. Wondering how in the world I'd become someone with this kind of patience, because it is certainly not a virtue I've ever been good at.

Finally, twelve minutes later, he crawled over into my lap, and I wiped all the tears and snot away, and just hugged him. I hugged him long and I hugged him hard. So thankful to have a sweet boy who knew he had the ability to express his emotions and felt safe enough to do so.

"I love you so much," I murmured. Then I told him, "I know you're really frustrated that you can't play on Momma's computer. You can play on yours though. Or we can play on something else."

He asked to nurse instead and I cradled the sweetest little boy I've ever known.

It's not easy. At all. Sometimes I want to scream and cry right along with my children. Sometimes I want to walk away or hush them up.

But I don't.

At the end of the day I want to have babes that know that their feelings and emotions are valid. However expressed.

Of course I will continue to help them learn to express their emotions in appropriate ways (B also has a biting problem...), but sometimes we just need to scream and cry. Whether we are 20 months or 20 years of 80 years. It doesn't matter. We all do it.

And it's healthy.

I can honestly say I hope I never see my child in the kind of distress he displayed today. It was heart-wrenching to watch. Especially over something that I perceive to be such a silly reason (though is obviously perfectly legitimate to him).

But if he does. I will be there.

Sitting on the floor with tissues. Ears opened and arms extended. Available when needed.