Well it finally happened, the boy told me that he hated me. It only took four years, but I finally made it to the Mom Hall of Fame. Why does he hate me? Two words, fingernail trimming.
The boy hates having his fingernails trimmed. I believe it stems from the fact that as a baby and toddler, I may have nipped his skin a couple of times. While I was upset at the time, I freely admit that I did it.
The "I hate you" was rather out of the blue. After showering, the boy was sitting on my lap getting his toe nails clipped as they were long enough and sharp enough to cut the lawn. He turned and looked at me with his honestly little face and said, "Mommy, I hate you," rather matter-of-fact.
My response was just as honest, "Okay, we'll I'm still going to cut your nails and I don't care." There it was tit-for-tat and I was smirking the entire time. The one thing that neither of us figured on was Daddy. Daddy was horrified. Poor boy lost his bedtime snack for about 10 minutes. Daddy was devastated that the boy could say such a thing. The boy was devastated that Daddy, the good guy, was mad at him.
In my head, the Ba-ha-ha had to be controlled or else it was going to slip-out of my mouth. So, I'm now in the club that my friends are extremely surprised took so long to get to. One down, only 18 more years of, "I hate you" to go.
