Light/Dark

"Okay, mom," she says agreeably when I request something of her. She takes it in stride and it's telling that this is remarkable. Wayland and I catch eyes and can't help but smile. "Progress," he mouths at me, and I nod quickly so she doesn't see.

::

The next morning I lean in to help her with her high top shoes and she's still furious, beyond furious, because I insisted she take her own nightgown off earlier. Before I can move she's hit me in the face, hard, screaming, "I HATE YOU! I WISH I DIDN'T HAVE A STUPID STINKING MOTHER!" And I grab the blanket in her lap, clenched fists, overcome with the urge to lash out back at her, to hit and scream and lose control as she has.

Instead, I drop the blanket and leave the room. She's screaming, "SORRY! I'M SORRY, MAMA!!!! I SAID I'M SORRY!" I take a breath, two breaths, three breaths, more breaths, until the hammering of my heart is softer. I come back and calmly resume helping her with her shoes. She is sobbing into her blanket. "I said I was sorry!" She is wailing. "Why won't you accept my apology?" When I try to explain that I have accepted her apology, but one doesn't just get happy as soon as soon as they hear an apology after they've been hit in the face. Before I can get this out, before I can make sure she at least hears the message, she screams "STOP IT! WHY ARE YOU STILL MAD AT ME?" While I'm trying to explain. She just wants it to go away.

::

Still, last night, back to last night. She is calm and agreeable and REASONABLE, even. "When I say that mean stuff, like I hate you and stupid and stinking, it feels like I'm lying," she tells Wayland. "Even while I'm saying it, it feels like I'm lying."

She is snuggled against Wayland's shoulder. Her eyes are alight with an easy happiness.

This is what I hold onto. More light than dark.