Mom Life; Furious and Gentle

I have recently met a beautiful person, my daughter, as she magically changed developmental stages when she learned to walk. Motherhood and gentleness is an critical combination. Perhaps not always simple, but imperative. Mom Life is continuously perplexing.

The Mom Life

My munchkin is now hitting every object or person in her sight, jerseying other children or shaking them by the shirt and throwing them to the ground. I recognize now that showing her solely NHL hockey on cable TV might have been a mistake. I guess Paw Patrol would have been a better option. She’s now a seventeen pound lethal weapon. Also Go Jets.

Recently I read an article on parenting and the caption said that if you yell ‘GENTLE!’ at a child, they will not be gentle. I smiled. Who actually needs that explained to them? That would be like yelling ‘RELAX!’ at someone while they were in a panic attack. Or yelling ‘RELAX’ at someone when they’re not in a panic attack. Both would make me very anxious. The article was written by, who I believe, is a modern day parenting guru named Janet Lansbury.

It isn’t that the instructions were difficult; of course yelling a word doesn’t teach the action of that word. It teaches yelling. I found out the hard way that the reason it is much more difficult than a simple concept is that you need to be gentle when you’re fucking furious.

Gentleness in Motherhood

How gentle do you feel when you’re furious? Sometimes I become so furious at the weather in Canadian winters that I actually wish weather was a person so I could yell at them about my arctic-based resentment. You snow-asshole! It’s effin April!

The change in her seemed to occur at exactly the same time as she mastered walking. Suddenly she was like “holy shitakes! I am homo erectus! I dominate daycare! Give me that damn stuffy! Fuck your diaper change!” Or at least, that’s what I imagine is happening in her sweet little mind. She is still the sweet, cuddly person she always has been. She is filled with love that sparkles out of her eyes, is always smiling and gives anyone at a hug. ANYONE. It’s an actual hobby of hers. Need a hug? Here’s 400.

Mom Life Investigation

I began investigating this new hitting habit of hers shortly after she face palmed me for the first time. Her hands are tiny af but she is strong and fast. I noticed that the hitting was not consistent with any particular state of mind or situation. It was also not personal. Regularly she would attempt to hit me in the face, I would dodge it like a ninja, and then she would happily proceed with hitting her own leg, face and head at varying degrees of intensity. I hoped some level of Darwinism would kick in and she would connect hitting her own face with an unpleasant sensation. She has not. She has the physical toughness of a soldier and the emotional fragility of a tea cup. No idea where she got those traits. Must have been the donor…

I pondered if the hitting was related to a tactile exploration. After all, her physical abrasiveness arose when she was playing with me (like a puppy biting), when she was angry about a diaper change; when she hugs me, she lightly taps on my back like a 90 year old is consoling me and she slams her hand on to her toys when she is successful at putting them together. A success slam! Her games of peekaboo have become an actual risk to her face. In no way does this bother her, which is mildly concerning.

Gentleness. The Struggle.

Recently I attempted to change her diaper, jujitsu style, and we had yet another tactile incident and I responded less than wisely. I used many distractions such as Super Pig, singing and the light dimmer to keep her mind occupied while I sped through the heroic and dangerous endeavor of a diaper change. She kicked me in the face trying to launch off the change table to her death, I brought her back (so mean) and she face palmed me so hard that I felt actual pain. Then, somewhat unskillfully, I grabbed her hand and said “NO. I will not let you hurt me. We do not hit!”  It was louder than I expected. She attempted to cry but no avail; she then carried on with hitting herself. She didn’t even care enough to put effort into her lame fake cry. So that backfired.

I regretted raising my voice and we continued with our evening. In the bathtub, she began putting bubbles on my arm with a bucket. She spread the bubbles by slamming the bucket into my elbow. I took her hand before it came down and said “gentle touching” and moved her hand for her in a gentle way. Initially this resulted in immediate baby-like, hilarious anger. Splashing. Oh wow…this has escalated, I thought. By the end of the bath, we had one moment where she lifted the bucket, had a discernible thought, and brought it down more gently. Win.

Gentleness. Partial Wins of Mom Life

Later I saw her hitting her own leg. Perhaps it was because there was a dog hair on it and she was highly offended. Understandable. I sat down with her and said “be gentle to your body. I love you and won’t let you hurt yourself” and then I kissed her hand. She hugged me. We had a similar experience when she pulled out a blade of grass. I told her “please be gentle. Grass is alive; we don’t hurt it by pulling it out of its home”. She put the grass back. Partial progress.

In the morning, she gave me a big hug when we walked out of her bedroom. I looked into her eyes and said “I love you Booooo!” and she lifted her hand (face palm prep). Immediately and softly, I stated (smiling although I felt significant fear) “Are you going to show me gentle touching right now?” and looked directly at her hand. She brought her hand down somewhat lightly (partial progress) and began gently rubbing my face with her hand (win). I kissed it and thanked her for her love. And for not breaking my nose with her tinyass combat skills.

The Reality of Mom Life. Progressive, patient work

This has been an ongoing experience of redirecting the behavior and learning how to be gentle when furious. Feeling intense emotion is normal but it doesn’t have to translate into actions. I have discovered I can be furious and gentle, if I work very hard at it. My breathing helps a lot with this when I am about to self-implode.

I believe our greatest tool is modeling the behavior we want to see in our children. It isn’t easy. When we look at our actions as the most influential teacher, we can to see that any form of violence or aggression from us teaches our children that we want them to emulate that behavior. It is a truly challenging and worthwhile practice to teach kindness in moments of fury or any other challenging emotion.

It is hard. It is worth it. Kindness teaches kindness. Gentleness teaches gentleness. And coffee teaches hopefulness.