Broken.

I was angry at Sofía for real for the first time yesterday.

Josh left my favorite mug – one of only three precious wood-fired mugs I made last year – on a coffee table within Sofía’s reach. Full of coffee no less. And yesterday while I was preparing dinner I looked down and saw her covered in coffee, playing with it in a corner of the kitchen. “Sofía, please give that to mommy,” I coaxed gently… but she still knew I meant to take her new toy away from her and so she turned and tried to crawl out of the kitchen, in the process smashing the delicate mug down on the hard tiles. She’s used to crawling with plastic things I guess.

Now I have only two left, and they are precious to me because there is no way I can see myself even doing pottery in the near future, much less forking over another $200 to attend a three-day workshop two hours away (each way). The pleasure of drinking out of something with such a wonderful texture and good form, that I made myself, is one of my small daily joys – but I can’t see it happening again soon.

In retrospect I guess I should be proud of the way I reacted. One of my deepest fears has always been that I would lose control and strike my child in anger, but the urge never arose. I was able to keep my voice fairly steady and explain why I was upset without yelling, but I’m afraid the calm effect was probably ruined since I was pretty much bawling. Poor Sofía knew I felt bad and kept saying “Love you, love you. Hugga! Sowwy, sowwy. Love you! Sowwy.” Sweet little thing.

So maybe there is a positive side:  at least there is something concrete with which to mark the first day that Sofía began voluntarily saying “Love you” with no prompting. She said it several times throughout the day, often followed by a squeeze around my knees and an exclamation of “Hugga!”

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