The other day Lilla was reciting a list to me of all the things she wanted to be when she grows up. It went something like this, “A ballerina, a doctor, someone who tells people about God, a rockstar (because, you know, she totally knows what THAT means) and a mommy.”
This is what ensued next:
I asked, “You want to be a mommy?”
Lilla, “I do. I want to be a mommy when I grow up.”
Me, “Why do you want to be a mommy?”
Lilla, “Because you are a mommy.”
Me, “Oh, do you think I am a good mommy?”
Lilla, “Sometimes. Sometimes you are a bad mommy.”
Me, (crushed, mind you), “Why am I a bad mommy?”
Lilla, pausing, “Weeeeeelllll…sometimes you yell at me.”
And with that, she went back to her play kitchen and started cooking up something for me.
I, of course, had the wind knocked out of me. How much more in perspective could life be than when your four year old tells you you are a bad mommy when you yell at her?
I grew up with a mom who yelled at me. ALL.THE.TIME. It was the main method of communication in our home. Or miscommunication, if you want to get all technical. Lots of fun memories with that, as you can imagine. Now, I want to follow that up with saying, I love my mom, I think she did the best with what she could. She has many stressors and never learned to parent well. But, I also believe she would even tell you this. She was a yeller. It was a coping mechanism, I suppose.
Growing up I swore I would not do that, and I will admit it is not nearly the extent of my own formative years. However, my heart hurts to think this is the way my own daughter thinks of me. I want her to look back with fond memories of cuddles and laughs and songs, not fear or anger or tears. It breaks me that she sees me as harsh.
So, after asking my sweet baby for forgiveness, I am on my knees. That is all I can do. Beg a Saviour who sees and knows, who created me to be mommy to Lilla and Anna, who loves them and loves me. And He…He is capable of change.