Then there are the days, that you cry after everyone is in bed. You cry because you hate how you feel. You cry because you feel hopeless. You cry because words sting. You wonder how to put those feelings back into the box and carry on like it ain't no thing.
The other night, you were sitting on my lap. As we sat, you asked me why I am always mad at you and always scream at you. My first reaction was irritation. Then I was frustrated and hurt. It didn't matter what I countered with, you were sticking to your guns. Added bonus when I was putting you to bed, you told me I needed to brush my teeth because my mouth stunk. Most days I would have brushed that one off and made some goofy joke with you about it, but it just added insult to injury this night.
This was a night that I went to bed crying. I got up and watched you sleep. I laid next to you and kissed your sweet head and I felt awful. I hated that I made you feel like anything less than the absolute gift you are to me.
From the day you were born Brylynn, you've challenged me. You've tried my patience. You've made me work to know you, you're not the open book your older sister was. You've taught me things and made me learn how to adapt. You are you -- un-apologetically and perfectly you. I've always said that you are your father's child without a doubt and overall, you are, but you are also part me.
It took the other night, hearing the words that cut to my soul, and a couple of days of processing to figure it out, but you are mine. You stretch me because you are me. You're harder for me to handle because you are me. You are more emotional than me, but you don't know how to be soft with words. You ask the hard questions because it's easier than making small talk and you get right to the point. You're honest even when it's hard to hear. You're perfectly comfortable being by yourself, because you won't compromise what you want for what others want to do. You stand firm, there isn't a gray area with you, you get that from me. You are very matter of fact. You are a younger and cuter version of me.
As I thought through the other night, I saw my side. I saw the frustrated mom that nobody wants to listen to unless she is seriously yelling to get someone's attention. I see the mom that is frustrated because the kids will listen to dad, but not mom when she says the exact same thing. I see the frustrated mom that sometimes can't make your tears go away when you don't know why you're crying.
Then I thought through your side and I see why your words are true to you. Mommy seems like she's screaming at me when she yells. When she yells, she must be mad at me. When it's 10:00 p.m. mommy really does need to brush her teeth. I see why you feel those things and I hate that I'm the one that validates those feelings.
It's not always that I have to yell. It's not always that my frustrations are high, but I get that when you're five and tired, that those feelings can rise to the top. That doesn't justify my short-comings or minimize your feelings, it simply states them in that moment very clearly.
But know this baby girl: you are mine. I will love you fiercely until my very last breath. I will spend every day loving you with every fiber of my being even when you're stretching me beyond where I thought I could go. You are me and I am you, and because we don't know any other way, we'll push hard through it all and love even harder. We'll whisper a secret, we'll hug it out, and we'll always be there for each other. You've got my heart kid. You've got it all.
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