Rage

Sophie had a full out temper tantrum again this morning, I believe because I did not give her the correct kind of cheese. We were trying to leave for the gym, and after wrestling her into her coat, I had to physically hoist her squirming body over my shoulder just to get her out the door. (Do any regular readers notice how many times I use a variation of the word "wrestle" to describe my interactions with Sophie lately? But I digress.) She kicked and screamed and writhed and bucked the entire time I carried her down the stairs, through the front yard and into the car. It took at least 10 minutes to secure her in the car seat, and this was only accomplished by stubborn patience and simple brute strength. She kept her body rigid the entire time, refusing to bend and place her bottom in the seat, so strapping her in was nearly impossible. I was worried about accidentally hurting her - she is really strong and I had a hard time getting a handle on her. The last thing I wanted was to cause her actual bodily harm while trying to manipulate her into position, so I kept counting to 10 under my breath and forcing myself to stay calm. I was kicked in the face at least three times during this process and now have a big red mark on my chin, but I did ultimately get her strapped in. She proceeded to cry and shriek the whole car ride. She strained, red-faced, so hard to free herself from the seat belt that I half expected to see a green Lou Ferrigno each time I checked on her in the rear view mirror.

We finally arrived at the gym, and I reached into the back seat to grab her snack cup of cheddar bunnies. She kicked the cup out of my hands, looked me straight in the eye, and growled through gritted teeth, "Leave. My. Bunnies. Alone." There was such naked rage on her face that she truly reminded me of a demon child you see in the movies. Tears pouring down her cheeks, shaking with anger, she looked like the only thing keeping her from ripping my face off was the remarkably strong seat belt straps still holding her in place. (Boy am I glad we didn't scrimp on a cheap car seat model, because if those straps had been flimsy, I would be faceless right now.) This was the point that I burst into tears.

I walked around to her side of the car and just held her, whispering in her ear that I loved her, until she (and I) had both calmed down. This took many, many minutes. Then she asked why I was crying, and I told her that seeing her that upset made me very, very sad. By that time, my gym class was well under way without me, so we just decided to come home. She is now happily watching Thumbelina, reassuring me every few minutes by shouting from the living room, "It okay Mama, I no longer crying!"

I have been trying for years to understand where this deep, visceral rage comes from in my children. Emma was basically born with it, and she still struggles so much with how to control her emotions, in particular her anger. I had thought initially that Sophie would be different. In comparison to her older sister, Sophie was such a mellow baby. But since turning 2, the anger has appeared in full force. I tell myself it is just her age, it is a phase, it is normal. But truthfully, I don't believe any of those things, at least not completely. The majority of my friends' children do not act this way. In fact, I will cop to often feeling so envious as I listen to my friends complain about their kids' so-called bad behavior, which to me sounds like a day at the beach. Intellectually, I realize that everything is relative, and I don't mean to minimize the parenting challenges of others. But sometimes, particularly after a bad day with one or both of the girls, I am embarrassed to admit that when listening to a friend lament about random whining or a skipped nap as if it is akin to torturing kittens, it takes all I have to keep from yelling, "Come ON, are you kidding me? Does YOUR child scream loud enough to wake the dead, lash out, destroy everything in his/her path, lose themselves in literal fits for 30 minutes or more at a time, actually convulse from the effort to hold in an anger too big to possibly contain? Often for NO EARTHLY REASON? Does your child actually sometimes SCARE YOU? No? He/she doesn't? Well then, SHUT UP!"

I know, I know...totally unfair. And most of the time, I try really hard NOT to play the my-kid-is-better/worse-than-YOUR-kid game. I know that every child is different. But I also fear, deep in my heart, that this philosophy doesn't really touch on the root of the matter. I mean, could it be more than just coincidence that both my kids often resemble little tornadoes of ferocity? The idea of Sophie heading down the same path Emma already struggles with literally makes me nauseous. Because the truth is, I know how it feels, and I know how difficult and isolating that anger can be. I have lived with it my whole life. And now, I suspect, I've passed on that same tendency toward debilitating rage to my beautiful daughters. It has to come from somewhere, and logic dictates that it is most likely from Chris or me. Albeit unwittingly, I suspect I have passed along my freakish anger gene to the two most precious people in my life, and that's a very, very bitter pill to swallow.

I have worked hard over the years to curb my temper, to find strategies to control it. And if Sophie and Emma DO continue to deal with the same issue, at least I have some experience to draw from in helping them combat it. But knowing that the battle even exists because of me is horrifying. When Sophie was spitting venom at me this morning, it really hurt my feelings. But the main reason I became upset was because I recognized the anger in her eyes, and it broke my heart. I pray she grows out of it, because thinking of either of the girls going down the path I've navigated throughout my life makes my skin itch with frustration. No, actually, frustration isn't exactly the right word. Ironically, I believe the correct word is fury. Yep, the whole thing just makes me really really really really MAD.

And so the cycle continues.