I forget how little my guys are sometimes. I can have little patience and huge expectations for them.
Me: Stop running. Listen to me. Put that down. Don't hit your brother. Don't put your fingers in her mouth. Stop swinging your arms. Sit down. Put that back. Don't play with the socket. Don't jump on the bed/furniture/table/stairs/crib.
Way too much negative and reaction v. catching the good and setting them up for success. Being a therapist, it's what I preach to parents at their sessions - many times hearing their painful stories of horrible parenting decisions and realizing/knowing I've done/said the same thing with my own children. Ahh... heal thyself.
They are little. 4 and 2. Special K is so darn cute and sweet and smiley - Mark and I are enjoying her while at the same time knowing it's a matter of time before she too will feel the wrath of Maba. (sigh)
So I'm writing this post to remind myself - lower the expectations, remember that they are small and struggling and learning in this world, and remember to have fun - more smiles than tears, more laughing than yelling, more love more love more love.
They are so loved. They know this. But I want to remind myself every morning when I wake up and every evening after a long day how much they are loved and how my life would be empty without them.
