Today, I demanded I pee in peace. Without someone shouting at me “ka ka”. Without having to hold the toilet paper over my head so Mariyah wouldn’t grab it. Without holding her back from diving head first into the bath tub.
I just needed a minute. So I crept into the bathroom and as the door slammed shut, the screaming began.
No, I will not back down. I will not let this child bully me anymore.
You is kind.
You is smart.
You is important.
I looked up at myself in the mirror, sighed then forced a smile. Knowing that once that door opens, the wrath of a toddler will soon bestow upon me. That she will cling to my leg and beg to be picked up.
This soon shall pass, I whisper. I turn the knob, I slowly open the door that she is clinging to for dear life. I look down. She wipes the tears and looks up.
“Momma,” she whines softly.
“My baby,” I respond.
And my heart warms and my face smiles as she wraps her small arms around my neck. Just 30 seconds ago, I prepared for battle but I forfeit.
The power of a child’s love is far greater than any force of this world and a child’s love, my child’s love, is what keeps me insanely, sane.