One more cliched mama moment.

My 4 something little tot has been especially recalcitrant this morning before school. He hides under his little blanket, claims to be tired, to have a fever, to have a tummy ache. Stay calm, I tell myself, stay calm. But the little monster refuses to move, and I get him to bathe and dress and eat only after I give him two smart smacks on his little bottom.
“You’re a very naughty little boy, Pramath.” I tell him as we drive to school.
“See, now you’re late for school, and Amma is late for class.”
He sits there looking forlorn, bites his lip, sniffs. I hate myself.
“Baby, I’m sorry, ok? I’m sorry I hit you. Give me a smile.”
“No.”
“Please, muddu.”
“No.”
“If it doesn’t rain today, we’ll go the beach.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
It begins to drizzle as we reach school, and I watch my little one plod off, dwarfed by his huge red umbrella, tiny against the big grey sky. He forgets his lunch bag, and I catch up with him, give him the bag. He grins at me, eyes shining with innocence and affection, the morning quarrel forgotten, and tells his pal proudly -
“See? This is my mama.”
Dear God, I don’t deserve this kind of love from him, I don’t, but …thank you.