She throws a look of disdain in my direction more times a day than I can count.
When asked to help with laundry/put away shoes/grab the jug of milk/pick her nose, she huffs and puffs. When asked to clean, she throws herself on the floor, flailing and screaming, then runs to her room and slams her door, usually yelling how I’ve “ruined her life”.
When one of her siblings is bothering her, she resorts to hitting instead of using her words. She reads at a 5th grade level for crying out loud; I think she knows a word or two.
She’s beyond exhausted with summer and heat and rain and siblings and moms with bad necks who can’t even drive her to pick out her school supplies. She wants order, structure, not the laid back chaos of no rules that envelopes my home like a cloud in the summer. I know this. She knows this. School is 2 weeks away and she can taste the freedom that comes with 7 hours away from twin two year olds who take her toys and a four year old who is struggling with his own need for structure and friends and preschool fun.
She is my first baby. I love her so much. Some days I loathe her so much that it hurts. It hurts to say that my child is so self centered that she can’t see beyond the end of her nose at times. It hurts to think that she’ll never grow out of it and we’ll always be at odds. Sometimes, when she’s not watching, I stare at her and look for where I went wrong. What did I do to her that makes her hate me so much? Then I see her freckles and beautiful brown eyes and know she’s my baby girl and this too shall pass. I hope it will.