I remember telling my mother that I hated her.

Our relationship was strained and torn and mended again and bruised and worn. I think it still is. Even to this day, the only thing I can really tell her is that I trust her with my son. I don't think she realizes the meaning and the depth and the vastness of that action.

For the first year of his life, my son was not babysat by anyone. At the most I left him with his dad (my ex) so I could run to the store, but even then I'd get a phone call to come home after half an hour. But I could not bring myself to leave him with anyone, not even family for the longest time.

My reasons were deeply personal. Reasons I've shared with less than a handful of people in my life.

I have tried to explain to my mother that leaving my son with her, even just to babysit, is the most profound act of trust for me. I'm not one who believes that kids will just make do with the care that they have, I have strong beliefs on how my son is to be raised.

I think that these, among many other factors, come in to play during these times when he's mad at me. I have to remind myself that as a small boy, he will be mad at me sometimes. Mad and angry. Just like I was with my parents. I try to explain to him that it's ok to be mad, but it's not ok to be mean. Something I was never taught. In my childhood, anger was to be squashed. It was the anger that was the problem. But anger is a natural feeling, it's there for a reason.

This morning, my son crawled in bed next to me and whispered that I was a good mommy. The anger and tears from last night had been forgotten and I had to remind myself that he's just learning how to be mad. He's learning how to be angry. It's my job to teach him these things.

As just about any parent will tell you, children are born masters of love. They know instinctually how to love, you don't have to teach them.

It's the rest of those darn emotions that get in the way.