“Mommy cried,” my 3-year-old tells my husband as soon as he gets home. He’s always telling on us to each other, so I knew it would come up.
“Mommy cried” is the most simple explanation of what actually happened, so I guess I’m grateful for that. We were on our way to it being way worse, and although I’m embarrassed by my lost control, I’m trying not to beat myself up too badly.
It was 1000 degrees outside when we visited the zoo. If you live in Columbia, you know it is way too hot after 11 a.m. during fall to leave the house unless you’re walking through a constant sprinkler system. We typically go to the zoo when it opens at 9 a.m., but we got a late start. Despite water breaks and visits to the air conditioned exhibits, we were both hot and grumpy by the time we passed the ice cream stand.
I tried to divert attention, I tried to ignore it, but he saw it. The cone of doom taunting his sweaty little self with its cool and delicious promises. We had already shared an Icee, so ice cream wasn’t in the cards. We needed lunch, and we needed to head home. So that’s what I told him when he asked.
He screamed. He laid on the ground. He kicked. He threw the biggest tantrum I have ever seen. So I calmly scooped him up and carried his thrashing body through the zoo, out the gate, over the bridge to the parking lot and to our car. I was hot, breathless, and frustrated that nothing was working to calm him. I felt the stares, but I kept my cool and kept moving. Mama on a mission.
When we made it to the car, I was met with that arched back refusal. I started to wrestle and tried to reason, but gave up. I tried to take the straw from his cup and drop bits of water into his screaming mouth like a desperate mama bird. I resorted to pouring small handfuls of water into my hand to cool him down by baptism or perhaps an exorcism.
I was desperate.
I offered snacks. I sang a calm and soothing song. I tried to bribe him. I told him that the police would take me to jail if I moved the car without him strapped in (I know, it was awful and I still feel awful as I write this over a month later … stick with me).
And finally I gave up. I put him in the backseat, put myself in the driver’s seat, locked us in and cranked up the air. The plan was to sit there until he was ready to get into his carseat. He was shrieking. And then he smacked me in the face, told me he didn’t love me, and I burst into tears. I was hot, tired, alone, and I felt like a failure. Over ice cream.
He eventually calmed down and through tear-streaked cheeks asked for a snack for the drive home. We worked together to get him strapped in, and we drove home as if nothing had happened.
And then he told daddy I cried. I had already told my mom, my bestie, and my sister and received messages of solidarity that #momlife is #hard sometimes.
Not my finest moment, and anyone passing by would have thought me unstable. Rightfully. I was completely on the brink of exploding and said unreasonable and regretful things.
But I’m glad it happened because I think we both learned a little something. It bothered him and me that we went to such a crazy place. That night while we snuggled up for bedtime, he told me he was sorry for saying he didn’t love me. He apologized for hitting me. I apologized too, and it opened a door for us to have a calm conversation about big feelings and how we might prepare better next time.
His tantrum was completely legit—a hot, tired, hungry toddler is one “No” away from a complete meltdown. I set him up for failure. I really had to reflect after that about my patience, my tone of voice, my helping him prepare for what we will and won’t do the next time we visit, and how I handle my own big feelings, especially when I am also hot, tired, and probably hungry.
Mommy cried. And it won’t be last time I’m sure.
I share this moment so you’ll know that your big feelings and shows of emotion are OK, and I hope that you have people you can turn to for comfort. You might say or do something you wish you hadn’t, but I hope that you’ll give yourself some grace. I hope you can find within that turmoil some good that you take away, some lesson learned for you and your child.
And if I’m one of the passersby at the zoo or wherever your child has their meltdown, know that if you need a lifeline, I sing a mean Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and if nothing else a weirdo stranger serenading your child might be just enough distraction to get you past the ice cream stand. I got you, Mama!
