I get so angry...

When he pushes my buttons, when I feel like I'm talking to the walls, when I've repeated myself for the 5th - 8th - 16th time.  When he explicitly does the exact thing I just asked him not to do. I just want to scream.  Sometimes I do. Then I instantly feel bad as he startles and then crumples to the floor crying that he now needs a snuggle cause my yell apparently scared him that much.  (Or is it just that he knows that's how my make me forgive him right away? Just how manipulative can an almost 3 yr old be?)  Either way.  I don't like to yell.  I don't want to be "that" mom.   Like the mom I hear behind out house who screams at her older kids and they, apparently used to it, just scream obscenities back at her or just ignore her completely.  

And then there is the urge to spank.  To reach out and slap him when he's laughing because he just kicked me and I yelled at him to stop hurting me. To swipe him across the bum when he's sticking it up in the air as protest to going to bed after over an hour of battle and delays.  I was raised on a belt. My mom was raised on a wooden spoon I was told. 

So what's stopping me from following suit? 

Well, there is that one time when I actually did give in,  where he was hitting me over and over because he didn't want to nap and after repeating over and over "we don't hit, hitting hurts!", "stop hitting!"  "We don't hit!" I finally said loud and angry "you want to see what it feels like?!" 

..... and he said yes.  *SMACK*

Right on that bare spot just below his diaper. My hand stung, his bottom quickly turned red, and the instant look of pain and betrayal in his face as he just melting and started crying.  My heart, in that moment, shattered into a million pieces as I felt the the full weight of FAIL drop on my head like a ton of bricks.  I gathered him up, tears pouring from both out eyes,  I hugged him and cradled him, repeating over and over I'm sorry and I whisked him downstairs to put an icepack on the bright read hand print on his upper thigh.

We spent the next 15 minutes icing, crying, and snuggling as I tried my best to explain to the, at the time just over 2 yr old,  little boy in my arms that this is what it means when I say hitting hurts and how I never ever ever ever ever ever EVER want to do that again because it hurt my heart to do that. That THIS is why we don't hit. 

Of course he's hit me many more times since then. But I've done my best to not repeat that day. But it's still there. The though crosses my mind when I get really frustrated, I can feel my muscles tense.  I squeeze my hands into balls and try to take a deep breath, try to calm down.  But I feel the shame just as hot in my face as the anger building. The shame at even having those thoughts. This is a little thing, a human being, still learning, still grown, a little thing that I am supposed to protect, to nurture, to care for.  How can I possibly be having thoughts like these? How horrible of a person am I? 

But I don't. I still yell and scream,  (though I'm trying harder now to count myself down before I reach that point because I do realize screaming accomplishes nothing). I may slam doors or storm out of rooms, but, I do not hit.   I grew up with a fear of my mom. Granted I now respect her more seeing what she went through from an adult perspective. Single mom working full time and night schooling. But I was always afraid of her anger. I don't want my son's fear. I want his respect. I want his love. I want his trust.  

But every day I feel like I'm failing to gain these things. Every day just feels like a new battle that often ends in tears for both of us.   And I go to bed feeling guilty, promising myself changes that never seem to follow through.  I wake up with hope and go to sleep in guilt.    It's a ride that I'm ready to get off of but I can't find the stop button.