Tuesday, May 24, 2011

I had a really good title for this post, and then instantly forgot what it was

I have a lot a lot a lot of anger. Towards this guy- a so-called relative. That called my daughter stupid. And so on.

There. I said it.  It's not such a secret, but.. when he took to the internet a few months ago to make some nasty remarks about my 2 year old.. it was pretty much gloves off. I don't see how a mom gets over someone calling their toddler stupid. Oh hey, ha ha, remember that time..

A few weeks ago, The Bad Moms Club posted an article about something unrelated, but there were a few paragraphs that struck a chord with me about my own "mama bear" anger- and I realized that's really what it is: "When someone picks on a child, their parents’ response isn’t to say “oh, yeah, hahaha, that’s funny! And so right! I am going to totally change my ways because that bully is totally correct!” Our response, instead, is to behave much as the bull who’s just been taunted with the red flag. We don’t listen to reason. We go, proverbially, or perhaps literally, in to a state we call Mama Bear. We anger and protect and defend." 

And that's it. I've gone Mama Bear. This immature guy makes some nasty comments to his, presumably, equally immature friends about my daughter.. and suddenly just knowing he's within 15 feet of me totally enrages me. "And from then on we walk around with our hackles raised.."

"Maybe you never had a Mama Bear. Maybe you have never seen a Mama Bear in action. Maybe nobody stood up for you when you were little and instead left you to be eaten by the wolves, wolves who were never taught themselves that it’s not cool to pick on someone else."

This afternoon he and his charming girlfriend were standing in the kitchen eating fruit cups- while I was trying to make lunch, with Lily by my side. Just standing and eating and standing and standing and eating. I don't let her near them anymore. And when they wouldn't leave the room.. we did. Even though I was in the middle of cooking. I can't even look at him anymore for fear I might start snarling. Possibly only in my head, or possibly literally.
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