From the Mouth of Babes

I have mentioned before that I attend a breastfeeding support group every Tuesday morning and how much I like it. 

Maybe I have also mentioned I jokingly refer to it as my Group Therapy.  Because it is.

And one week I really used it as the confessional. 

There was a good old rant at the start of business and I’m afraid I took the floor.  I let it all out and probably scared a couple of new mums into the bargain.

But by god I felt better after it. 

And what’s more, I found I was not alone in my feelings.  That’s why I love group so much – we none of us are afraid to let another know they are not rowing the boat alone.

I don’t mind sharing my rant here with you today because it was my rant and also because my seven year old impressed the hell out of me.

I am not proud of my rant nor am I not proud of the fact it was in front of my seven year old. 

But I am incredibly proud of him and his reaction. 

To my eternal shame I was brushing his teeth with more vigour than was strictly necessary and telling him how I need help in the evenings, how he knows I am always busy in the evenings trying to get everyone ready for bed; it is not easy, I don’t enjoy it.  I don’t enjoy shouting at them and it’s hard.  I’m tired, it’s the end of the day and I need some help. 

I put to him my favourite comparison; “How would you like it if you had four mothers shouting at you over and over again?”  I explained in my shite parenting moment how difficult I find it when the four of them are doing the same thing to me of an evening. 

Every evening.  

 

He listened but I could see increasing anger and frustration in his eyes, then he literally raised his hand and swiped the toothbrush away. 

He looked straight at me, clenched his fist and demanded; “So why don’t you do something about it then?”

He completely floored me. 

Knocked the breath from my body with that one furious statement.

How come sometimes the child is smarter than the parent?