It is my belief that being a parent is the most difficult job in the history of the world. Before I had kids, I was one of those people that saw bad kids in grocery stores and said, “My kid will never act like that!  I would beat that kid’s butt!  That kid needs a good whoopin’!”  Those were all things I said during my single days, until…I had kids.  My daughter was such a great child growing up and I bragged about her constantly.  However, I think God grew sick of my bragging and, after nine years of bliss, he sent me my son.

Let’s talk about my son.  At almost 4 years old, he has aged me about twenty years.  From birth, this boy has been a handful.  He never slept, cried constantly and refused to be consoled.  For the past 4 years, I have told myself, “Don’t worry, next year will be better.”  Guess what?  It hasn’t gotten any better.  We’ve had to replace two big screen televisions and a lot of vandalized furniture, had to repaint over magic marker  and had to visit the hospital where he has received fourteen stitches.  He colors on everything, breaks windows with toys and pours kool-aid on my laptop.  When he is disciplined, he screams, cusses and bites.  Am I a bad parent?  I don’t think so.

I have raised this boy exactly the same way I raised my 13 year old daughter.  She is a well-mannered, well-adjusted, intelligent and sweet girl.  She does great in school and several teachers have commented on her maturity.  So what happened with him?  Well, I’ve come to the conclusion that he just has his own personality.  He is stubborn, strong minded, sassy, precocious, overly brave and hot tempered.  He is also too smart for his own good.  After dwelling much on his behavior, I realized that he is just like me.  Do you know what? I didn’t turn out so bad.  The problem is that he inherited all of my interesting traits, while my daughter inherited my favorable traits.  The poor kid just got the raw end of the deal.

Each time my son acts up, I look into those beautiful green eyes and see myself.  I see all of my faults and all of my love.  How can I not love the kid?  When I hold him at night and he looks up at me with those long, curly lashes, I just melt.  He says, “Mommy, I’m sorry.  I love you.”  And then….he does it all again tomorrow.  I’m not worried.  With him turning four soon, I know that his next year will be better.

“Parents are not interested in justice. They’re interested in peace and quiet.”  Bill Cosby

Author: Rhonda Gutierrez