Bad Momma Days

The days get shorter along with my temper. I find that by Wednesday my patient is short ordered. Today we have plans as we do most Wednesdays to go out. And these are always the days that Camille seems to be off. Then again anytime we go out, Camille is off. She cries. She's angry. Everyone pisses her off. A sideways look can send her into a fit. 

On days when I am well -rested, I feel Camille. I can soothe her into the transition of leaving our nest. But today, I am out of sorts. I am exhausted, stressed out, and feel a bit fragile myself. Today her tears and tantrums make me angry. I try to fake it through the first few but she catches on and amps it up. After the seventeenth screaming fit because "Umberto won't give me his book!" I lose it and yell. She storms into the room, flings herself onto the bed, and sobs loudly. Her shrieks hammer on me as I try to get things ready to go with baby on my back. 

Umberto continues to torture Camille. The other beasties take great pleasure in taunting Camille. 

I manage to hold it together until I can't find the cases for the library DVDs. The kids' room is trashed and this sends me into a fit of rage. I yell and kick things around trying to find the cases in the room. At this point Camille is sobbing hysterically and I am feeling like the wicked mom of the West. But I am still so pissed that I can't just say "I'm sorry. Let's move on." 

We get outside and as I lock the door Camille wraps her arms around me. I am frozen in my act, key in the door, bags strapped all my over my body. I feel her tiny hands holding me. And I am humbled by this love and this trust. This forgiveness. I hold her against me, running my hands over her hair. We stand together. Mother and daughter. Sisters. We know each other in ways that others will never know us.

I love you mama.

I love you too Camille. And I'm sorry.

I know.