Yeah. That title would be mine.
Ever since I started back to work (oh, yeah,
by the way, I've gone back to work. More about that later), I have had very
little patience with Madeleine at nights. I last about an hour and then we're
at war. Tonight was no exception. After telling her a million times to go get
in bed, and Monica telling her son the same thing, I had about had it. We are
currently staying with my sister and sleeping in her basement. For some of
reason, Madeleine has developed an odd and intense fear of the basement after
dark. That's where we were as we were yelling at our kids to JUST GO AWAY
already. We were on a different side from the kids who were "supposed to
be" going to bed. I heard them squabbling, something about the light, more
blabber blabber but we're not paying attention so we're not looking. I walk in
to the room to watch Madeleine slide off a small table as it tumbles to the
side under her. Being at my wit's end with her, I react in frustration. I yell
at her for being on the table and what was she doing on the table in the first
place!?! "If you hadn't been on the table, you wouldn't have gotten
hurt."
I pick up the table as I'm holding her and
it's a fairly heavy table. She is screaming because she's hurt and probably
more scared than anything. I'm nothing but frustrated at this point because I
thought she was just dinking around, climbing on the table for fun. After a few
minutes of screaming (hers and mine), she calms down and tells me she was on
the table because Christian (her cousin who was supposed to be going upstairs
to go to bed long ago as well) turned off the light on her and she was scared.
Damn. Ouch. Woops.
I immediately tear up and feel absolutely
horrible. Massive Parenting Guilt - 1. Kim - 0.
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