Well, I’ve hit my kids. Both of them.
I was leaning into the van trying to find things and I noticed that the kids left a milk container in there. It was sideways and leaking onto a pile of books. I yelled for Eldest Child to get over here and help me. She appeared and I meant to hand things back to her but I misjudged distance. I smacked into her belly pretty forcefully. I wasn’t trying to hit, but I did. We’ve discussed it a few times and I’ve apologized. I really didn’t mean to slap a pile of stuff into your belly. I meant to hand it to you and I misjudged. That’s sucky. I’m sorry.
Then this morning Eldest Child thought it was funny to tap on my face. I said that it hurt and I wanted it to stop, but my eyes were closed and I wasn’t that emphatic. So Youngest Child walked up with a toy and slapped me in the face hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I smacked her body hard enough to get her away from me because she started bouncing the toy on my face again.
I didn’t apologize for the second hit. No, I’m not actually sorry that I hit you hard enough to push your body far enough away from me that you had to stop hitting me.
I didn’t punch or slap that hard. There isn’t a mark at all. But it hurt my bloody nose and I’m not freakin sorry I made your body get away from mine. You don’t get to hurt me.
So, I’ve done it. Shit.
I’m going to have a day of feeling like a bad mother. But you don’t get to hit my fucking face. I don’t care who you are.