Dear Livia,

Someday you might be married and you might have a three year old. In that day, in those moments where you either want to ring her neck or find a noose for yourself, remember that you were once a three year old as well. If you have actually survived to adulthood, know it’s a testimony to the amazing grace of God.

You and I are involved in one of the most trying experiences of my life—tantrums. I never thought you, my sweet and contented little baby, would throw tantrums, ever, in your toddler years. I wish I could acknowledge that I have substantial patience and self-control to guide and discipline you in the midst of the fits you throw. But I do not. Indeed, my lack of patience and self-control is incredibly frustrating. I used to think I was a good person. Now I know it’s not true. (That’s only partially said in jest.)

You tripped at the doctor’s office today.

You spilled over, twisted a bit in front of the large aquarium, and something about that ticked you off in a major way. Immediately your piercing screams filled the waiting room and every adult looked to see a shrieking, writhing, crazy child on the floor. I took you to the women’s restroom, warned you to calm down, then spanked you. It was so not fun, in every way imaginable.

When I take a moment to breath in and out, to let go of my frustration, I focus again on how incredibly precious and smart you are. You bring incredible joy to Daddy and me. You surprise us constantly with your attention to detail, your ability to tell and re-tell stories you’ve heard, your sweet spirit, and your love of laughter. You say the funniest things these days and have quite the circle of imaginary friends who are ready to play at your beck and call. You love going to Sunday School and Children’s Church and you’re constantly asking to play with your real live friends as well.

Livia, you remind me on a daily basis that we’re all diamonds in the rough. Lots of rough edges—on you, me and Daddy – that need smoothing out. We discipline you, then recognize the same rebellious, temper tantrum-producing spirits within our own bodies. We’re your parents, so you must learn to obey us, but we’re the same as you. Fallen, in need of a Savior to rescue us from ourselves. God’s grace is abundant, my dear girl. May you depend on Him, just as we do, as you grow.

Love,
Mommy