I had another episode of this.
My boys each had a 48-hour battle with a virus (they won) which included a day of dealing with vomiting and fussing, and a day of us fearing they would go the entire round again. Their pediatrician confidently proclaimed them easily able to overcome illnesses, though, knowing I breastfed the elder for two years and the younger is still breastfeeding at seven months. (The next milestone goal for breastfeeding is at one year so we have five more to go.)
We had no issues with Kian but me and Llew? His last night of taking medicine was terrible for both of us.
He cried and I cried. I told him how frustrated I was getting and angry because it’s for his own good and he’s not listening.
Read the irony there immediately, for the person who professes faithfulness in a Lord she has a hard time listening to and obeying.
He cried anyway. Refused to take his medicine anyway. I forced him anyway.
We hugged afterward but it didn’t quell my feeling of being a terrible mother for having that episode. But the hug told me he understood. For all the tears, screaming, and protesting, he understood why it had to be done.
I sympathise so much with those mothers who have these moments. Those gut-wrenching, “I just damaged my kid psychologically”, bad mom-but for his own good times. Parenting is never easy and the worst part is you never know the end result nor is there a true measure of success. Everything is relative.
And all I can really do is pray that I did not fail the trust given me when I was granted the children I have.