Blankie

I want my Blankie I say to myself as I am getting into to bed. It's been a rough night. My son seems to be all confused and angry inside and he is taking it out on me. His defiant behavior has me stumped. My frustration level is low, just like his, and I become so angry but am determined not to take it out on him. This is not his fault. I think about how this would not be happening if R had not decided to kill himself. That doesn't mean there would not have been other problems, but it just seems so unfair that a boy so little must carry such a big burden. I did the best that I could. I made him get into the bath where I knew he would start calming down after he angrily splashed and soaked the rest of the bathroom with water. Fine. At least the bathroom's meant to get wet. After bath, I have him draw a picture of what he is feeling right now. He draws himself as sad and me as angry. So, I start crying and have to leave the room. My little one follows me and says, "Mommy, I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"
I look at him crying not to completely breakdown and squeak out "yes." Then he hugs me for a while. What a sweet boy I have.
It's not his fault that I am crying, I get overwhelmed sometimes and at that moment the only thing that will clear the air is a good cry. I was having all sorts of flashbacks while all this was going on and by the end of the night I was drained. And now that its' time for me to go to bed, I am wanting something to hold on to. Something soft, cuddly, something that won't kick me in the middle of the night.