Big E's frustrating preference of barely eating dinner followed by multiple snacks after teeth brushing, while in bed, caused a minor tiff between us.
I'M READING BOOKS NOW. IF YOU GO DOWNSTAIRS TO GET A SNACK YOU WILL MISS PART OF THIS BOOK.
His response was to throw a book at my head. It grazed my chin. But I had had enough. I stood up to storm out of the room. It was either that or throw him out the second story window.
Mid-stride, Little E walked into the path of Tornado Mrs. Yoy. I tripped on him. He went down hard. I went down harder. I slammed my already ailing back into Big E's bedroom door as I landed on my side.
Little E started crying. My back was in flames. I felt like that old lady on the infamous commercial.
I'VE FALLEN AND I CAN'T GET UP!
I propped myself up on my elbow to assess the damage to Little E.
Blood. Dripping from his mouth. On the carpet. On my iPhone. Everywhere.
Yes, I dropped a dirty bomb in front of my kids.
I pulled Little E over to me.
BIG E, GO AND GET A WASH CLOTH FROM THE BATHROOM!!!
Shockingly, he listened.
I lifted up Little E's gum to see the wound to the inside of his upper lip.
It stopped bleeding shortly after. I began crying. I'm the worst mother in the world.
MOMMY, YOU HURT ME. (Little E said it twice for good measure).
Thanks, Little E! You are really massaging away my raging feelings of guilt.
1) I stormed out of my 4 year-old's room like a 4 year-old.
2) I took out an innocent bystander in the process.
3) I cussed in front of my kids.
Where do I pick up my sash and crown for winning WORST MOTHER EVER?
Tomorrow I will work on my temper. I am an adult. Big E is not. And repeat.