I sit here at my computer this morning, talking myself down from wanting to shake my son until he shuts up.
For those of you who know Thomas, you know he is one of those babies every mother dreams of, who sleeps hours at a time and cries only when he needs something. Beyond that he is a smiling bundle of easy-going joy.
This morning Thomas is not cooperating with my pre-set agenda, and I am feeling the rage well up within me.
I got up at the ass-crack of dawn this morning so I could get some research done on the internet â€“ research Iâ€™m getting paid to do and have a responsibility to follow through on. I get up at the ass-crack of dawn so I can do this in the quiet of my living room without interruption.
This morning Thomas woke up at half past the ass-crack of dawn, which I thought would be okay. I thought he would nurse, then play quietly on the floor next to me while I did my research. But that didnâ€™t happen. He has been fussy and whiney and only wants to be held or nursed â€“ which by the way has been extremely painful this week due to [WARNING: you may consider the following to be â€˜too much informationâ€™] a yeast infection on my nipples.
I am frustrated, and for the first time since he was born I am feeling rage toward my docile son.
I thought he would be exempt from my rage. I thought my rage was directed at Ruthie because she is so much like me. But I am once again reminded that my rage is an issue of my own selfishness, not of anyone elseâ€™s provocation.
I am frustrated with Thomas because he is interfering with my agenda, with my set plan for the morning, and it pisses me off. CAN I PLEASE HAVE ONE HOUR TO MYSELF TO DO WHAT I WANT??? I can feel the anger seething in my chest. I have a right to do what I want, and he is stealing my time away from me. The morning is MY time, just as the late night is MY time.
These are the thoughts running through my head as I sit here in the living room, listening to Thomas scream in the playpen in the basement recreation room. The poor little guy needs his mommy, and instead of providing comfort she has abandoned him for the sake of her own selfishness.
[I pause to breathe deeply and pray for peace of mind.]
I hit a milestone this morning. As I felt the rage welling up in me I chose to head it off. So often I satiate my need to rage because, like sex, there is much comfort in the post orgasm release of pent-up tension. False comfort. I feel relief for a fleeting moment until the guilt sets in.
Today I left room for hope and sanity. I drew my fists back to smash the stereo, but I did not deliver the blow. I allowed the spirit of God a foothold in my heart, just enough for me to walk away and accept that I cannot control my son.
I am not perfect, this was not a perfect exchange, and the likelihood that I will blow past this small victory to rage again in the future is high. But for today, for this moment, I feel empowered by the Holy Spirit that God really does have the power to change my wicked heart.