Barbarism Begins at Home

Get your pitchforks and torches ready, because you are going to need them.

Here we go:

I sometimes physically punish my son.

It’s not like I do it all the time, or even every day, but it has become a frequent enough occurrence to make me feel guilty write about. And if the Dane finds out about this, I’m dead meat.

Some history: when I was young, back in the Stone Ages, I entered the age of tantrums just like any other kid. I even remember throwing myself on the ground and arching my back as I kicked about. “Like a shrimp”, my grandpa said. I also remember my beautiful and elegant grandmother disapproved of my crustacean behavior, so she administered what was common practice back then: a few well applied lashes from a leather belt smack on my rear.

According to family lore, I never did it again. I may be dumb but I’m not stupid.

Fast forward 30-odd years to one fine morning when my sweet baby was somehow replaced by a tiny fury thrashing on the floor, screaming like one of those high-frequency riot dispersing devices, and doing its best to land a few kicks on my shins in the process.

You’ve surely read about how when you’re confronted with a wild animal your body reverts to its most primitive attitudes. Fight or flight and all that, yes? I’m afraid I forgot all the Montessori books, the Baby Center newsletters, Dr. B’s advice, the Dane’s threats and my own good intentions in a rush of adrenaline and fear: I walked up to the little poltergeist, grabbed his thigh firmly with thumb and forefinger, and pinched.

The effect was immediate: the screaming and flailing stopped on on the spot, and a more ordinary kind of crying took their place. And since I know full well how to soothe a normally crying toddler, it was a matter of minutes before we were both calm and ready to go. No marks, no hard feelings, no tantrum.

If my son were a little wiser we would not have had to repeat this scene ever again. Alas, it takes him more than one stumble to learn.

I, on the other hand, am a grownup – at least on paper, – and it is my parental duty to look for more constructive ways to cope with the tantrums.

But gosh DARNIT, it works so well!

PS: I am not trying to bribe you into forgiving my totally inexcusable behaviour, but I’ll send some postcards to the first person to identify where the title of this post comes from. And then I’ll go back to my dungeon for being such a crap mom.

PPS: I am trying to not do it any more. I swear I am. Any and all advice will be welcome.

_Parenting is dirty, exhausting and a lot of fun! Marie is a not-so-new mother who is doing everything wrong, but enjoying (and blogging) every fail.