I ran out of the bathroom, breathless.
Who was bleeding? Who slipped? Did I need to call an ambulance?
“What happened?”
From the high-pitched bawls that pierced the air, I envisioned a terrible accident.
“Sarah-Faith,” my three-year old gasped for air in between sobs, “… says she doesn’t want to talk to me.”
I looked at my little one, bewildered by this disproportionate distress. I glared at my firstborn, taken aback. They’d always claimed and to be best friends- when did my firstborn learn to speak like this?
“Come here,” I asked Sarah-Faith gently.
She edged herself over, sheepish.
“Is Esther-Praise right?”
“Yes. I told Meimei (little sister) I was very tired so I couldn’t talk to her.”
I flushed red, tears hot.
That day, on the National day school holiday, as Cliff and I tagged teams to care for our children, I felt worn out.
“LOOK MAMA! LOOK! SEE! LET ME SHOW YOU THIS!” Sarah-Faith skipped in the supermarket.
With my head spinning, I said curtly, “Mama is very tired. I need some quiet time and can’t talk to you right now.”
THAT’s where she learnt it. It wasn’t from school, or from a bad friend.
It was me. 😭😭😭
As I hugged my girls tightly, holding back tears, I asked Sarah-Faith while pointing at her sobbing sister, “Is this how you feel inside when Mama says I’m too tired to talk to you?”
“Yes, Mama.”
For all their bubbly resilience, God showed me an unforgettable picture of how my children feel whenever I turned my back to guard my self-entitled “sanity.”
“I’m SO sorry, to BOTH of you.”
I learnt that day, how what we impart is not carried in what we preach, as much as what is carried in our spirits, played out in full candid splendor before our kids, day by day, in our worst moments.
If you’re struggling with parent-guilt, God knows. For all our falleness, He helps us, minute by minute. We’re not perfect.
He’s with you, Mama & Papa. You might fall, but may God and the littles’ forgiveness can help you get back up again. You can do this 👊🏽🥲