Mood: 
If you haven’t read my last post from a couple days ago, it’s best to do that now and come back. I’ll wait…
Not many people know that I a have a short temper with my kids; mostly my almost-2-years-old daughter. Sunday night, after a lot of introspection resulting from Saturday night’s revelation, I figured out where that anger comes from:
When I was 10, during the summer, I was babysat by a stay-at-home mom who had a kid a little younger than Emily. I remember his name: Paul. I would play games with Paul while she would make lunch or do the laundry or vacuum the rug. One day I decided to show Paul how much fun it was to spin around, so I stood him up, took his hands and started to spin. I got a good speed going and he was laughing…
…and then he slipped out of my grasp. He flew across the room and stopped hard with his head and neck wedged under the rocking chair base. There was what writers call a “pregnant pause” and then he started to scream. When his mom came in she thought he had fallen from the chair or tripped or something. Paul wasn’t yet old enough to tell her what happened. I said nothing.
I don’t remember much more about that time. I think that was near the end of summer and I went back to school soon after. I don’t know if the hit on the head ever had a lasting effect on Paul. I know that kids are pretty resilient, but he hit so hard. I’ve been carrying this guilt around with me for a long time.
Then I had kids of my own. I think because of what happened so long ago I’m ultra-vigilant around them, trying to make sure they don’t hurt themselves. I accidentally hurt a little boy because I was trying to have fun with him, so I’m too serious with my own children. If they do something foolhardy because they don’t know any better and hurt themselves then I just go ballistic. It’s the crying; I can’t handle that sound, and my brain short-circuits. That, combined with other issues that have been building up since I lost my job just after Geoffrey was born, has really changed who I am.
Now that I’ve made this realization I think I can catch myself before blowing up, but I’m going to see the doctor about treating generalized anxiety disorder. I still have to leave; I just hope I can salvage my family’s respect, and love.