Most parents get the obligatory “I HATE YOU!” from their kid at some point. Some get it when the kid is in the throes of the
fucking fantastic fours and obstinance and tantrums are a way of life. Some get it from their angst-y tweens, who usually punctuate it with a slammed door. So far, I have made it 7 years without hearing those dreaded words. I thought I had it made until the day my daughter said four words that cut me even deeper:
“You. Don’t. Love. Me.”
Ouch. I can’t even remember now what the context of the slur was. But I do remember feeling a sense of disbelief. How could this child–the child that sat inside of me next to my heart for 6 months–think it was possible for me not to love her?
I love her with all of my being. I can’t remember how I even breathed without her in my world.read more