Bad Parent: The Biter
My son is "that kid."
by Kate Tuttle
July 17, 2008
When I got older I lied, outrageously at times. I told the truth at other times, mostly when it was uncomfortable or got other people into trouble. I stole things. I talked back to adults, whether parent or teacher or librarian, loudly questioning whatever dictates they sent my way. I didn't know what to do with my emotions. I cried a lot, yelled a lot, laughed inappropriately. When I try to remember how it felt to be a child, all I can think of is how much like me I already felt. I haven't changed, but I have learned better how to be in the world.
It's not that my kids and I are all that awful. Most of the time we're warm, enthusiastic and likeable. And obviously every child has his or her moments — if tantrums and tears weren't such a typical part of growing up, bookstores wouldn't devote whole sections to books on how to deal with them. And yet I know we have this inborn thing in common; we'll never be the kind of people who wait contentedly in long lines, the types who laugh and slap their knees and say, "What are you gonna do?" when someone loses their luggage or backs into their car. You won't hear us replying, when the waiter brings us the wrong order, "It's all good." We're not, in short, mellow.
While I often feel bad about it and wish I could have bequeathed them a more even temper, increasingly I realize that my problem children are lucky to have me, such an imperfect person, as their mother.
My problem children are lucky to have me, such an imperfect person, as their mother.
Because I know that life's an uphill struggle, but that things get easier — that their strong feelings will become strengths, that they're going to grow into the passion and energy that seems too big, too much, right now. It's what I tell my teenager when she erupts in tears after yet another conflict with a teacher. And it's what I whisper into the toddler's ear, my face nestled into his sweat-dampened hair, as he falls asleep on my chest: It gets easier. Life bites sometimes, but pretty soon you no longer will.
Article Photo: Angie McKaig
©2008 Kate Tuttle and Babble
About the Author
|
|
Related Articles
|
|
Kate Tuttle is a writer and editor raising two children just outside Boston. |
|
|
-
by Marjorie Ingall
Believe it or not, formula isn't poison.
-
by Madeline Holler
I love you, but I hate your kid.
-
by Katie Allison Granju
A leading attachment parenting writer says, enough already.
|
