Last night, for the very first time, Gabi told me that she didn't like me. With big green eyes full of defiance and sorrow looking up at me. Her eyelashes fringed with tears.
And it didn't even bother me one bit. No, not at all. Gabi won't get her little claws into ME!
I am the MOTHER, and I'm perfectly okay with making tough decisions that are in Gabi's best interest, even if she doesn't agree. Like turning off the TV at bedtime. Oh, Lordy, did that ever cause a full flung tantrum. Let me just say, cartoons are the creation of the Devil. They suck all reason out of your child's brain. I would love to ban cartoons from my house, but they are the only way I can get dinner on the table.
I knew the time would eventually come when she would say she hated me and wished I wasn't her mom. But it's starting now? At three and a half? I thought I had a bit more time!
Up until now, whenever Gabi disagreed with something I did or said, she would tell me she hated my words, or that she didn't like the rule. And, of course, break down in tears, exclaiming about how unfair life is. But she wasn't directing her wrath at ME. I was her comfort in the storm.
(Oh, and just a little sidebar to the Big Guy Upstairs who designed little kids to leak snot out of their noses each and every time they cry. What's up with that?)
What she said last night won't change the way I parent or relate to her. If anything, it makes me more resolved to do the right thing by her. To raise her to be just like me! No, no, just kidding. But somewhere along the line I remember hearing that if your child says things like that to you, it means you're doing a good job. That sounds pretty good about now.
After she made her statement, I hugged her tight and told her that I loved her. She relaxed into my arms and went to sleep.
Although, truthfully, after she said it, for just a second, I felt like I'd been stabbed in the heart.