I love my oldest. I really do. But lately she has been pushing me into a dark place of headaches and woe. All that constant noise coming from her body and the whining. Oh the whining. About everything and anything and nothing at all. I often find myself locked in my bedroom, running away from the child I do actually love.
While she whines and complains that I'm not getting her hot cocoa fast enough, my mouth explodes and the torpedo is headed straight to her.
"BE PATIENT! I'M DOING THE BEST I CAN!"
Her bottom lip trembles and tears rush down her rosy cheeks as she runs away from the mama monster.
I roll my eyes, wondering why I should give her sympathy when there is none for me. After a few minutes I follow her into her room. I scoop her up, still crying in her 3 year old despair. We rock as I rub her back, telling her she can stop crying now. I pull her up and look her in the eye, ready to tell her what she is doing wrong and why I had a right to explode. But she won't look me in the eye.
And there, hidden behind her tear stained blue eyes the color of an open summer sky, hidden behind the endless talking and the craziness that is Millie Fish, a quiet little whisper. I lean in and hear her whole body say "Be patient. I'm doing the best I can."
I pull her close to my body again, covering her head in little kisses. Now I whisper back "Millie, please try to be patient with me and I will try harder to be patient with you."
Her reply is buried in our hug. "Ok. Do you forgive me?"
"Of course. Do you forgive me?"