You Scream; I Scream

I'm having some mommy growing pains. Before I had a child, I swore I would never yell in that way I see parents do, in situations that are obviously futile. I wondered, contemptuously, what was wrong with these people--didn't they know that their 2-year-old wasn't rational? What good was yelling?

Readers, I've become one of those yellers, and it's no good. Not because it might scar Jarrah (but ack! what if it did?) or make her tell her friends "My mommy yells a lot for no reason" (though she probably will) but because it scars ME. First, there's that bit about not wanting to have to eat my hat (see above.) Then, there's the logical part about the recipient being totally irrational (again, see above.) But the real reason it scars me is I don't WANT to yell, and sometimes, apparently, I lose control. I say "lose control" because the outbursts often surprise me, and because they sound really maniacal and pointless and desperate in the air.

I feel especially guilty because Jarrah is generally an easy child. Everyone comments on her sweet, agreeable nature. She is enthusiastic and playful most of the time. I am frequently grateful for all these traits.

But I get really furious sometimes, about stupid things. In the big picture, these things don't matter, but sometimes in the moment, I am really, really angry that I can't get Jarrah to sit still for shoes and socks when I'm already late, or because I fall over her toys with the sharp edges while I'm trying to make dinner. I find myself yelling about that aforementioned big picture, in a way that is not comprehensible to Jarrah: "Don't you know we're going to miss circle time?" "The kitchen area is off-limits for toys!"

Those aren't the serious times, though. The serious times are when I just sit there and scream "STOP IT! Stop it, stop it, stop it this instant! I can't stand another second of that noise!" At those times, I am really, really loud, and my face is all screwed up and hateful, and I pound on the table with my fists. Kind of like a two-year-old having a tantrum, now that I think about it.

David has seen me do this and is quietly shocked. It's not his personality to be hot-headed, first of all, and he's always been more rational than me. But also he hasn't been worked over for 10 hours already, or used up the patience reserve that was already low, the one that sometimes I can only replenish on odd-numbered days. I think in those moments, when Jarrah and I are both screaming, he wonders what he's gotten himself in to, sharing his home with two nutso women. But he is wise enough to keep it to himself, instead stepping in with soothing words for both of us.

Jarrah, at least for now, seems completely unaffected by my outbursts. By which I mean, not only doesn't she cry or look scared, she doesn't even seem to notice. She wavers not a whit in whatever she was doing that made me start screaming in the first place. Sometimes she even starts laughing. I dread the day that I frighten her or hurt her feelings with my loud voice. I don't want her to associate me with the bad parts of life.

Also, I wish I could stop yelling because it makes me feel small and petty and pathetic. I thought I was going to be tougher and wiser and more saintly, being a parent at my age. What happened? Readers, I don't know. I just know that by the time I realize I feel like yelling, I already have.