Bad Parenting Moments Come Back to Haunt

I am having a hard time not taking out my pregnancy fatigue on Selah, who of course would not understand. Yesterday was a horrendously long day, with Jeremy gone before Selah woke up at 7, and not returning until after she had gone to bed, and our 13.5 hour day in the interim included the gym, the DMV, meeting friends at a restaurant...in short, it was tiring!

I was getting out of the shower toward the end of this day, hurrying to get ready to go back out for the restaurant, and Selah ran into the kitchen, waving a pair of small, sharp, orange-handled scissors. (She owns a pair of small, blunt, orange-handled scissors). Horrified, I snapped, "Hey! Those aren't yours! Those are sharp!" yada yada.

Disappointed, as she clearly thought they were her scissors, Selah argued, and threw a fit when I put them back (I was still not wearing any clothes, and cold and mad). Letting the moment get the better of me, I pulled out her scissors, and said, "Look! These are yours! They are not sharp." I hucked them onto the floor and...they broke.

Understandably, Selah really melted down then, since she had wanted to play with her (cherished) scissors, and then I broke them. I stormed back to the bathroom to dress and dry my hair, and when she came in, I apologized for breaking the scissors, and said I shoudn't have thrown them. She forgave me.

However, when I came back into the living room, there she was, reenacting the whole sordid scene with her toys. One, the oppressed toy, was crying out in grief, "Those were brand new! And you broke them!"

I should probably start saving up for a therapist now. But meanwhile, I might need one, since pretty much my every fault or error is remembered and imitated for my enjoyment. Sigh.