I have met a two year old that can make me cry. I truly have.
Yesterday, I sat down and cried. The kids stared. They weren't sure what to do with me.
I wasn't sure what to do with them.
Kids are my passion. I've always dreamed of having a full home. Infertility has made that dream hit some walls along the way so I have found other ways to fill my home.
Actually, I should say, God has found other ways to fill my home. He is always sending opportunities my way, it seems, to bring children or teen girls into our home to love on. While I long for more pregnancies, not to mention our two little ones that have gone before us to heaven, I have been grateful for the love, laughter, and hugs Daddy God has brought my way via these young friends of ours.
Yesterday, not so much.
I have my daughter of course and 2 regular daycare kids here full time, often beyond full time. My daughter and the 3 1/2 year old--they're the kind of kids, that if you look at them cross eyed , they usually melt in a puddle and stop the naughtiness. But the 2 year old. . . as my mother-in-law would say, "Mama Mia!!!" And yesterday, I reached my limit. I just started crying. Couldn't deal. Just looked at her and found myself saying through tears, "What am I not doing right that you are NOT getting this?"
I had plants uprooted, walls drawn on, books destroyed, food thrown everywhere, and my daughter had a goose egg from being hit with a pot lid. I was frustrated with her, but even more with myself. I felt like such a failure. Conquered by a 2 year old. Even time-outs were draining me. I had to sit and hold her in her time-out chair to even get a time-out accomplished. (Amazing, how strong a tiny 2 year old can be!) Not a big deal if it was only 1 or 2 time outs, but these were every-ten minute time-outs. . . ALL. DAY. LONG. I don't have time to sit and hold a child in a time out chair every ten minutes!
As I told our women's minister at church today, I wanted to say to this child, "You know what? Throw the food, uproot the plants, spread the dirt, dig the shavings out of the chinchilla cage, draw on the walls. When you're done, I'll clean up!" Somehow cleaning it all up seemed easier than trying to stop her every other minute of the day.
And then the kicking, the screaming, the hitting when I do have to put her in time out. . .
I got down on the floor and gave more-than-usual one-on-one. We prayed together. I tried to snuggle her (not happening yesterday!) I tried soothing music. I even lost my "no yelling in my home philosophy" and began yelling, wanting her to get it. "Just stop, please, and be good!"
The professional counselor in me knows this is part innate personality (think The Strong Willed Child) and part life circumstances driving this behavior. I can see it logically. But emotionally, the feelings of total frustration, isolation, and failure overwhelmed me yesterday.
Today? Today, she's not here and I still don't see what the key is I'm missing. I feel like if I could find the key to unlock this wall with her, we'll be ok. But I don't know how to find it.
What I do know, is I got to Bible study and I actually asked for prayer with a red face. That's how at my limit I am. Board Certified Counselor who once dealt with suicidal teens and anorexic women, turned weepy Mama who can't figure out the issue (ok, I'm not her mama, but since she's here 30-50 hours a week, I feel like a second mama to her). I was at that place today, where I knew I needed the prayer back up even at cost to my pride.
I got prayer back up and then, I got the words that all of us Mamas need to hear---"I know! I know! Been there, done that! Doing that! Oh, I know!!! I yell too. I cry too. I feel like a failure too. . ." just hearing those words made me feel like, "Ok, when she comes back Wednesday, I can do this! I can. Cuz other Mama's are doing it every day too."
The other thing I "know" is something Daddy God gave me from my devotions this morning. I need to start seeing her through His eyes. I've only been seeing her through my (often-over-tired-have two-other-children-who-also-need-me and have-lots-of-private-cares-and-concerns-weighing-on-my-husband-and-I and still-grieving-our-lost-baby-and-healing-from-the-surgery-pain) eyes. I haven't stopped to see what my Daddy-God and her Daddy-God is thinking when He looks at us. And I need to start.
In some ways--we're both similar. Both of us have (living) Daddy's who aren't a part of our lives. I'm 34 and have learned how to deal with it. She's 2 and she doesn't know how to wrap her mind around the fact Daddy is now gone---much less deal with it emotionally. Truth is, my heart should understand her heart, but when I'm in the middle of the battle(S), I don't. And I certainly don't see the Father's heart for her.
But I want to start. I want His eyes when I look at her. When she slaps my face and says "no" for the umpteenth time I want to see that incident as He does. When she throws everyone's food after I've already replaced their lunches, I want to love her with His love. When she tries to run away through the door, I want to pursue her, not with frustration but with love, just as the Father pursues me with His love.
I want to love her the way Daddy-God does. . . just the way He loves me . . . and loved me through my own troubled years.
Maybe that love is the key I'm looking for. Maybe it's the key that will unlock her heart. After all, it was the key that unlocked my heart and set me free.
