Demon adults

Today started off ok, but by early evening before dinner, it just went totally crap.  Two adults raising their voices at each other, always emotionally draining but throw in some extreme tiredness on my part (still feeling rubbish since Christmas) and it's a recipe for tears.  Not mine, unfortunately.  Toddler A ended up very unfairly on the receiving end of an over-the-top outburst which should have been directed at me.  You should have seen the look on her face and the tears that followed, my heart broke.  

(Hopefully) horrified at what he did, Mr., quickly embraced her and told her he was sorry, but not before she was made to tidy up her toys.  She then told him, she was sad, very sad over and over again.  My heart lurched some more.  

After a few more hugs and asking her to bring some toys to distract her brother, she was as right as rain, all smiles and playing again.  I love how tough she is, how she doesn't wallow in her misery.  

I shouted at her unreasonably once, a couple of weeks back.  Baby O's continuous illnesses was draining me physically and I was tired, tired, tired.  In my agitated sleep deprived state, I really raised my voice at her and I can't even remember what it was about.  All I remember afterwards was how I felt like a total shit, and what a total cow I was.  I was mortified when I realised what I had done.  Again, the look on her face almost killed me inside.   I vowed to myself to try and never ever take my own problems or issues out on my kids.   How do you know whether what you are doing is ultimately damaging to them?

I remember when growing up, there was a period of time (must have been when I was about 8-11) when my Mum would regularly fly off the handle with us.  I'd end up crying my eyes out and locking myself in the bedroom I shared with my sister.  It was an incredibly sad time, thinking why did my Mum, someone who was so central to my world, hate me so much etc.  It was only when I was a bit older and started to realise and understand that my parents were in fact going through one of their difficult patches, and that my Mum's seeming intolerance to us was a reaction to what she was going through.  I now know she kept a lot of the sadness to herself, but it inevitably seeped out and affected those around her.  But when you're a child, you don't see all of that, you just think that you'd rather have not been born.  That is an awful feeling to have.  Do the repercussions ever truly go away?