Man I love my kids but man do I screw up massively sometimes.  I love them so much they make me crazy, Maisy in particular.  That girl was specifically designed by God to stretch and shape me.  It’s painful most of the time.  She also brings me more joy than I’ve ever known.  The highest of highs, and lowest of lows.

One night, when all attempts at discipline and correction went so terribly wrong, I yelled like a banshee at her and ripped any bedtime privileges away from her.  Then I was left mortified at my own behavior and yet still seething at her if I thought about it again.

I did manage to end that night with “I love you,” kisses, hugs and snuggles but before that it was a whole hour of her screaming and me, seemingly, grabbing at straws to try and correct her behavior.  The girl just couldn’t, and can’t, handle it; instead of blunt discipline she needs snuggles and physical love in order to correct.  Gentle chats instead of revoking privileges.  Time in instead of time out.  Thing is, the world isn’t going to give her that so I felt compelled to try and teach her the hard lesson sometimes.

In writing this all out the answer seems clear.  She’s still too little to even attempt dealing with her feelings on her own.  I know she’ll get there.  And yet this realization makes me feel even worse because of how wrong I dealt with the situation.  But that’s parenthood.  Making mistakes and praying your children will forgive you so wholeheartedly they never slap you across the face with it later in life and that they will grow up to be awesome humans despite your sinful nature.

I was entirely unaware that parenthood would make me realize my own sinful nature to the painstaking degree that it does.  It’s heartbreaking and intensely and grotesquely humbling.  Buried deep down I do thank God for it.