The Power of 'I Hate You,' the Attraction of 'I Love You'

A storm suddenly arrived at our house. The great storm of my two-year-old daughter's 'terrible twos.' Swept up by the gust, our free time and the composure of both father and mother were blown far away in an instant.

Above all, what particularly disturbed the hearts of father and mother were the five characters of 'I hate you' uttered from her tiny mouth.

Do not underestimate the power of 'I hate you.' 'I hate you' attacks you slowly and steadily like a body blow. Once you've taken a finishing 'I hate you' to your completely exhausted heart, it's a knockout, and you can't get back up.

Perhaps aware of this, when things don't go her way, my eldest daughter brandishes 'I hate you' like a family heirloom sword.

My husband and I are both relatively laid-back, self-proclaimed heartwarming family members, and we have never said things like 'I hate you' to our children.

When I wondered where she learned it, it was from picture books. My eldest daughter loves picture books. She spends her time smiling and satisfied when reading them, so from around two months old, I read to her day after day.

I was gung-ho about reading to her, saying, 'It's supposed to be good for emotional development,' even though I didn't really understand the meaning of the words. I never imagined she would master the words of 'anger' and 'sadness' before the 'joy' and 'fun' of emotions.

'I don't want a bath, no, I hate Mommy!' she cries with a wail. 'I won't sleep, I want to play more, I hate Daddy!' she cries with a wail.

However, no matter how much she says 'I hate you' or cries, if she doesn't take a bath, she'll be covered in mud, and if she doesn't sleep, she won't grow.

Although I patiently admonish her, saying, 'It makes me sad when you say you hate me,' scold her, or feel sad, her 'I hate you' movement never ends. Before I knew it, she even started spouting cheap lines that would put a daytime soap opera to shame, like 'I wish you would just disappear.'

'Where did you learn such words?' When I asked in confusion, my husband replied with a straight face, 'From picture books.' Alas, emotional development.

My eldest daughter is likely just unable to verbalize her own muddled feelings well, so she grabs the number one power word she has inside her, 'I hate you,' and throws it at us.

But with the daily lack of sleep and a lethal dose of 'no's,' my emotional controller broke.

When she ran away covered in mud saying, 'I drank all the bathwater so I'm not taking a bath today! I hate Mommy,' or when she asked for a rice ball and I made one, only for her to cry, 'This isn't a rice ball! I hate Mommy,' and smash the rice ball I made with love. The crushed former rice ball just became plain rice, and my feelings became even more of a mess than the former rice ball.

I became unable to laugh at things that would be funny to others, and despite being 34 years old, I would cry, snap, or feel my heart constantly churning at her every move.

Until my child was born, I always thought I was a patient person. But I was wrong. I must have just been blessed with a good environment until now.

Living in lukewarm water, I have now completely become an instant water heater myself. Once the core of my body is lit, it flares up to the top of my head in an instant, and I cannot help but let that flame out of my body.

'That is enough!!!'

At the same time as I drop that thunderbolt, the calm part of me begins to regret it with a speed of a fraction of a second, thinking, 'Why did I get angry at such a small child?' Even though regret gets a flying start every day, I can't stop getting angry, and then I regret that about myself too.

My child is so, so cute. All the mothers around me start to look like saints or warriors. Why can't I do it well?

A helping hand was extended to me just then. My husband took paternity leave right when I was giving birth to our second daughter.

We decided that if we felt overwhelmed by the tantrums that visited us many times a day, we would indulge ourselves before we ended up saying 'I hate you' to our eldest daughter.

We buy a slightly fancy snack when we go out with the children. Although we are saving money because of his paternity leave, we decided not to cut back on snack money.

Thanks to that, our household's Engel coefficient is skyrocketing, coupled with the historic weakness of the yen. Even though such an extreme household budget flickers in my mind, I honestly buy what I want to eat.

Lately, I spend my days secretly thinking about snacks while putting the kids to bed. Even if the children are a bit fussy, I can keep an open mind, thinking, 'Well, there's a scone waiting for me after this, hehehe.'

Not a carrot in front of a horse, but a scone in front of a mother's mouth. A tart would be even better. However, the downside is that while my heart grows, my body grows too.

When I finish the mission-impossible task of putting them to bed and return to the living room, my husband has brewed decaf coffee for me, saying, 'Thanks for your hard work.'

I stuff my mouth with a crumbly scone and take a breather with the coffee. The perfect sweetness soaks into my tired body. Then, the two of us talk about trivial things, one by one.

'The tantrums today were something else,' 'She won't acknowledge a rice ball unless it's shaped so sharply that the corners are pointed.' It's strange how, when the two of us talk like that, even painful things can turn into laughter.

And in the end, we always land on the conclusion that, one way or another, the children were cute today after all.

Since having children, my heart feels heavy every time I see news about child abuse. With the same intensity as I feel pity for the victimized child, my chest tightens with a sad feeling, wondering, 'Was there no one to help this parent?'

I think the biggest enemy of parenting is loneliness. Even if they tell a cute lie like 'I drank the bathwater,' if there isn't someone there to laugh with you and say, 'That's funny,' it immediately stops being a funny event.

My own children are, of course, adorable. They are so cute I could eat them, and in fact, I do nibble on their cheeks a little. I'm even a bit taken aback by the magnitude of that love myself.

But at the same time, a feeling of exhaustion is always hidden behind that love. Surprisingly, affection and exhaustion, the desire to be alone and the desire to be by their side, are always uncomfortably coexisting in my heart.

Even now, with my husband on paternity leave and raising the children with me, there are times when I clench my back teeth and endure every time the children have another tantrum. I feel like my jaw muscles are starting to bulge.

I desperately swallow the terrible words that seem ready to spill from my throat, and with a trembling voice, I tell them, 'Mommy loves you, so it makes me sad when you say you hate me.'

I have never laid a hand on my children. But that is not because I am a good parent; it feels more like the result of various pieces of good fortune overlapping.

Always succeeding or failing, getting angry, laughing, and crying, I walk through the days holding my children's hands. I hope that when the time comes for these hands to let go, they will be able to find the words that perfectly match their feelings and release them into the world.

My eldest daughter recently learned the word 'I love you.' Even to someone like me, she says 'Mommy, I love you' in unexpected moments. It's simple, but just hearing her say she loves me makes my heart feel warm and fuzzy, and all the previous tantrums don't matter anymore. 'Daddy, I love you.' Just hearing her say that makes my husband's already droopy eyes crinkle even more.

When I give my eldest daughter a big hug, my 0-year-old second daughter crawls over, reaching out her hands as if to say, 'That looks fun! Let me join in!'

I wonder if those four characters of 'I love you' have a mysterious gravitational pull. When I hug the two of them and say 'I loooove you,' the children roll around laughing happily.

I always want to love these children with 100% purity. To be a cheerful mom again tomorrow, well, what shall we eat today?

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