I want to be patient. I need to be patient. I am not patient. Unfortunately, last night exemplified this. Robbie refused to go to bed. Flat out refused. Bedtime took three hours. At one point, actually at more than one point, both of us were in tears.
I did everything the books, websites, and more experienced parents tell you not to do. There was yelling. Threatening. Taking away of toys. Everything that I could think of, except being calm and rational.
When Justin finally took over the bedtime attempts, I curled up in bed and cried. Robbie is old enough to remember this stuff now. What if this one night, this one (of many, I’m sure) bad decisions sticks with him?
And then Robbie woke up this morning. He woke up, smiling and telling me about his fun rest and how much he loved me. That’s when I really knew. He’s going to love me no matter what. We’re both going to mess up – a lot. And that’s OK. It’s the mess-ups that make the next day that much sweeter.
If I hadn’t been so terrible last night, I might not have taken Robbie on a two-mile walk this afternoon where he pretended to be a pirate, went fishing, climbed a rock, and jumped in every puddle along the way. I might not have taken the extra time to cuddle and rock him tonight when he asked for it the fourth time. So, I’ll take a night of being a bad parent if it means I can refocus and come back more determined to be better the next day.