100 days of no yelling

It's been months and months since Abby gave up kissing me goodnight.  My big girl has finally grown up! She likes to give me hugs, we share a little "cheeky" where we smoosh our cheeks together, and that's it. Then Daddy takes her upstairs for her bedtime routine.

I figured that it seemed a little early, a little young that she'd given up mouth kisses already.  I remember giving up my mouth kisses with my own mother but not until I started school.  I was too embarrassed for anyone to see me kissing Mommy!

At first I felt a little rejected.  I mean, I'm not the favourite.  First of all, Daddy has always had Daddy's little girl.  I've come to terms with that.  I've grown to love what that relationships means to Abby and her daddy. I loved that they shared such a special bond. But when she gave up mouth kisses, again I felt a rejected.  Abby's always been very affectionate and loving. So I came to realize that maybe this was just her growing into herself, asserting her independence. 

Until I started noticing her pulling away from long cuddles.  

No more mouth kisses.

Starting her three year old attitude (I thought it was terrible twos, not threes!).

And I craved the closeness we used to have.  

Then it dawned on me one afternoon. I cannot recall what happened for me to lose it, but she bore the brunt of my yelling. Again. I'm such a yeller.  I was loud.  I was scary. It was enough to send me into tears after I was done.  I made up for it.  After I let out, I would always scoop her up into my arms, tell her I love her, tell her that Mommy was having a hard time.  It wasn't her fault. That she was awesome.  Important.  Smart.  A good person.  A good friend.  

But then that afternoon I noticed that her forgiveness was apathetic. I had immediate tunnel vision. All I could see was that I was trying to mend a broken arm with a band aid.  It just wasn't working anymore. I needed to stop breaking that arm.  I needed to stop breaking that precious, delicate heart.

I grew up being yelled at constantly.  It's how I know to fight for me.  It's how I have a voice.  If I don't yell, I'm not being heard. The past is so manipulative to the present.

I've been reading all of these 100 days of happy posts, 100 days of clean eating, 100 days of anything.  I thought, here's my answer: 100 days of no yelling.  I will not hear my father come out of my mouth again, not one more day.

And you know what happened? Day 1 was difficult, but not impossible. Day 2 I had to fight with everything inside of me to not let loose.  I had my own time out two times that day.  On day 3 I told Abby, "You know how Mommy would normally yell right now?  I didn't!  Are you proud of me?"  The smile on her face told me her emphatic, "YES!" wasn't a lie.

Then Day 4 happened.  The guilt consumed me.  I felt like the worst person on earth.  I felt like I was ruining this precious child.  I was damaging her.  Not because I broke and yelled, but because the night of Day 4, I got a goodnight mouth kiss.

And on Day 5, I got kisses all over my legs when I was just doing dishes.  I got cuddles when I sat down to take a break.  

Day 6 and on since, I've had sweet cuddles and mouth kisses at bedtime, and randomly during the day.  I've gotten smiles during times that I felt it all throughout my chest to break, and when I didn't, I saw light beaming from those two little chocolate brown eyes.

Each and every moment is an opportunity to heal and recreate awesome.  I used to think my apologies were enough. The band aid is a honest effort, but it's not enough.  It's learning that a band aid is not the solution, but embracing that arm so it won't break in the first place, is the ultimate step to awesome.

I don't need 100 days to accomplish anything.  I just need this moment, right now.

Feeling awesome today?  Yes.  Waking up to day 15 tomorrow, and that will just be my measuring stick... ready to just be present in the moment with that little girl, and ready for those kisses!