Literally. My three year old boy slapped me across the face today. Shocked? Astounded? Disgusted? Me too, and they were only the initial feelings. The Super Nanny flashed across my mind wearing that let’s-admit-it’s-too-tight blue skirt and suit jacket, waving her finger towards me as she stares through me over the top of her I-know-what-I’m-on-about glasses with a mix of pity and shame. Well, don’t just look at me, tell me what to do!
The precipitant was a request, then a demand that he get down off the stone wall and go to the toilet with his father. And perhaps I had entered his personal space, my face too close to his. And perhaps he was over tired. And perhaps he didn’t really need to go.
But…but…but…
No way, it’s not ‘asseptable’ and I know that. I told him too, pulling out my best I’m-in-control voice and life-lessons lecture about being gentle with people, listening to his parents and missing out on nice things. Sounds impressive, hey? Apparently not – just boring. It washed over him like any lecture would a teenager. My god, what have we created?
