Being the motherly champ.
There's nothing worse than being sucker-punched than looking your opponent dead in the face with your guard down. When in an accident, your body is less damaged when you don’t anticipate the impact, but I don’t think that applies to being a mother and knowing your kids' patterns. The blows don’t hurt any less when we have become desensitized to their behaviors. I snapped! Trying to balance family time with time spent out of punishment is a fine line to walk. The mommy guilt doesn’t ever go away. It begins when we first leave our infants with a sitter, then taking toys away to time out—allowing our kids to scream and cry when they don’t get their way to now cutting off WiFi and their instant stimulations of electronics. How do I cipher between the cry for help vs. another manipulation to con me into giving in? Single mom life is rough. I’m one person managing the entire fight: promoter, trainer, and the fighter. The best part is having few in your corner but so many people in the audience with opinions and influences just watching to see whether you fail or not. I can only see through my own eyes, and when advice is offered, I still have to decide if I should change my techniques or wait for my opponent to slip up or tire out. I’m tired of being a punching bag. It’s time to let them know who the champ is.