This mom lost her cool and now the guilt is a tough pill
to swallow.
By Alanna Stang, of Cookie's
The Agony and The Ecstasy
I did, I clapped him right on his meaty little 2-year-old thigh. We were on a train headed out to Long Island in the middle of the afternoon, just when he usually naps. I'd planned the trip thinking he'd snooze en route, but he was so excited by the "toot toot" (thank you, Thomas), he never settled down. A few stops before we had to change trains, I realized he'd pooped. With no changing table--let alone a bathroom--onboard, I spread out a few napkins and started the stinky job right there on the seat. Hardly ideal conditions, but I'd manage. Or so I thought. Punchy from the lack of sleep and the thrill of the ride, he tossed around, refusing to lay flat long enough for me to clean him up and get the new diaper in place. Of course, it was one of those massive, how-can-this-much-poop-come-out-of-such-a-small-kid? poops. And I worried that if he kept flailing something would get smeared.
Related: How
to Discipline Kids
Related:
Dealing with Tantrums
I tried everything from asking calmly, to demanding, to begging, to bribing to get him to stay still. But the more I warned, the more he wiggled. I could hear myself getting shrill and feel my exasperation rising. It seemed he was taunting me with every twist and turn. Then, in a flash, it happened: There was the crack of my hand against his flesh, my gasp, and his shriek. Both our eyes instantly filled with tears (though I managed to keep mine from spilling over). After I'd quickly fastened up his diaper, I gathered his bawling little body up in my trembling arms, and to my great relief, he was comforted. I knew the sound had been worse than the sting, as there was no red mark. Still I felt awful, out of control, guilty.
Related:
NYC Prep is Freaking Me Out
As soon as I got in the car, my heart still pounding, I told my
husband that whole sordid story. He was totally unconcerned: He
chuckled a bit at my exaggerated angst, declared it was "no
big deal," and promptly changed the subject. The next day, I
admitted the episode to a friend who has three kids, all older than
mine. She also shrugged it off. The following week a close
colleague was similarly unimpressed. No one was willing to grant me
the absolution I was seeking. Eventually, I realized I needed to
absolve myself: If my kid wasn't scarred, maybe I should just
let it go? So I lost my cool for a moment. I'm not proud of it,
but I have a feeling it won't be the last time.
Read more of our other editors' responses to Alanna's story...
More from Cookie:
Jenny McCarthy Speaks About Her Son's Autism
Celebrity Moms
Twin Double Strollers
Easy Workout Plans
Healthy Snacks
