As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. It was one of those parenting moments where you realize right then and there that you've fucked up, big time. Most of the time I think I am doing an ok-to-pretty good job, and I wonder what my daughter's therapist will be saying about me in twenty-odd years. Yesterday, I knew.

We were planning to go to my girlfriend's house so she could braid my daughter Aya's hair. I'm pretty helpless when it comes to white hair and definitely handicapped when it comes to my daughter's bi-racial hair. Usually her father does it, but he doesn't know how to braid. My daughter had been on my case for weeks to put braids in like Asia at the park, and the little girl in Grandmother and I. Of course, I know the braid reality—I can hear the little girls three rows down screaming their heads off on braid day. But I want my daughter to love herself, and her hair, and to feel competent and beautiful, and so we made a date with Titi—for braids, ice cream, pizza, and one of her all-time favorite activities, cat-petting.

Before Titi converted to Christianity, we saw a lot more of her. Now she attends three-hour services and her availability cuts right into our nap schedule. I am a nap Nazi anyway, but since I am pregnant, I am even worse. If the child doesn't nap, I think I will rip my fingernails out, one by one. Usually I nap too, but even if I just doze and eat chocolate, I need that hour and a half! I used to be able to sneak chocolate right in front of her, but now she can smell it on my breath, so I don't get away with it unless I want to share with her, which I don't, so my competing needs for sugar, caffeine, sleep, and free time make naps a priority in my house.

Parenting Rule #186: never, ever, ever plan something fun for after a nap, and if you do, don't tell the kid about it. She was just waaay too excited to sleep. No matter what I said or did, she would not nap. Milk. Back rubs. Shut-eye stories. Nothing worked, and finally I screamed in utter frustration, "If you don't take a nap right now, we are not going to Titi's house for your braids!"

Well, clearly, it is next to impossible to fall asleep when your Mommy is ranting and raving and screaming her brains out. Like I said, I can handle most situations patiently, but the sleep thing puts me right over the edge. Just in case she didn't hear me I screamed again, "TAKE A NAP RIGHT NOW OR WE ARE NOT GOING TO TITI'S!" (Naps on command, brought to you by Super-bitch) My daughter opened her plump lips wide, squeezed her little eyes shut, and howled as if she were being tortured. By the time I could actually calm her down, she was absolutely defiant (living up to her name, obviously, which means defiant and fierce, but that's a whole 'nother parenting mistake story…) "I'm not taking a nap," she said. "And I'm not going to Titi's house. I hate cats. I hate braids. I don't ever want to see Titi again. I don't care what you do to me."

"Fine," I say, like a three-year-old myself. "I guess you don't want ice cream either." That wise response brought on more howling, and finally I began crying with her. I am hormonal, clearly, but I also wanted to see my friend too. Parenting Rule #348: don't punish your child by taking away something you want.

By now it was evident that a nap was not going to happen, but I tried to calm her down and get her to at least "rest." "If you just rest your eyes a little, maybe we can still go," I said. At some point in the midst of all the tears my hubby came home. Parenting Rule #111: be consistent, and do what you say. I learned this one when I used to work at juvie hall, with teenaged boys who were repeat offenders. ALWAYS do what you say. NEVER back down. I learned a lot about parenting there, I just didn't think my own spawn would torture me the way some of those boys did. Still. I saw the mass chaos that would ensue if a staff person was seen as weak. Not me. Never me. One time I caught a boy called Peach Pit with a beeper. We had been having a great group and idealistically I thought we were making some progress, like I always thought 'til I would see the same kid coming through the system again. The beeper actually went off. For a minute I tried to pretend like I didn't hear it, but we all knew that I had. I couldn't hesitate. "Give it," I said. He put on his sad weepy eyes and tried to bullshit me, but it only lasted a minute or two. After that, if anything, he and the others respected me more. One time I made my daughter cry for an hour and a half because I said I wouldn't carry her to the car. It was like 20 degrees out and when she finally scraped herself there, we were both freezing, but it was worth it. She never pulled that b.s again. All I have to say is "no means no," and it's all good.

So me and my hubby, we try really hard to stick to this. In this particular situation, though, he convinced me that just once it would be okay to back down on my word. "She won't remember," he said. "She's too little." The truth is he wanted us out of the house. "So she didn't take a nap," he said. "She doesn't seem tired to me." Of course not. Little Miss Sunshine for Daddy. So he went about trying to explain things to Aya. "I know Mommy said you couldn't go to Titi's house if you didn't take a nap, but Mommy made a mistake," he said. "Titi works a lot, and these were special plans, so you can still go. But next time you must take a nap when Mommy says."

Aya gave Daddy a kiss, and skipped off to get her backpack. She got her little jar of Dixie Peach conditioner, her new comb, and the elastics for her hair. She packed them in with her stuffed cats and skipped to the door. "I'm ready, Mama," she said.

We were almost at Jacqui's house when she said the words I feared. "Mommy," she said. "I didn't take a nap, and we are going to Titi's house anyway." She said it just like someone older would say, "Bitch. You got <span class= 'txt_ital'>played!" I couldn't decide whether to laugh, strangle her on the spot, or turn around and go back home. I kept driving. Then she said it again. "I didn't nap and we are going to Titi's house ANY ways!"

"Aya," I said, half-turning around, "if you have any sense at all, you will NOT say that again." And she didn't. But she had a smirk like you wouldn't believe.

Titi had already ordered pizza, and the novelty of getting braids lasted about eleven minutes. In five- to seven-minute increments, Titi managed to get about a quarter of Aya's hair braided while I watched and tried to learn. "I'm all done, now, Titi," she said, climbing down from the chair and giving Titi a kiss. Jacqui laughed. "You're not," she said. "But we'll take another little break." "No," said Aya. "I'm done." She loved her braids, even though the rest of her hair was one big Afro. She kept swinging her head back and forth to watch the braids fly in front of her eyes. "I look like Jazzy," she said. Jazzy is her cousin with white hair (and skin) and long pigtails. "Titi," she said. "I love my braids!"

She wouldn't let Jacqui put any more in and she wouldn't let her take any out either. "Thank you," she kept saying. "I look so beautiful."

Titi was horrified. "She can't go out like that," she said. I just shrugged, too tired and pregnant to care what her head looked like. "I don't care," I said. Jacqui shook her head. "You're the one who always says you don't want your girl to look like the black child of a white mother…"

I've fought enough battles for today," I say. Jacqui shrugs. "Beauty is torture," she says, and we laugh.

"Let me at least put in some Afro-puffs," Jacqui says. Aya starts bouncing and chanting, "I'm rough and tough with my Afro-puffs," and it is clear that nobody is touching her head anymore today.

My husband, who I'm sure, had a nice, quiet, peaceful afternoon, laughs hysterically when he sees her. "I told you," he said. His mom used to braid his hair and he remembers hating it. Then again, his mom could probably muscle braids onto anyone's head, including my defiant little angel. We wait 'til Aya is asleep and then we gently take them out. The next day she has forgotten her braids, doesn't even mention them. I can only hope she forgets how she got over on me. I guess I'll have to wait 'til naptime to find out…

Kathleen Furin is the co-founder and co-director of the Maternal Wellness Center, which provides education, psychotherapy, and advocacy for pregnant women, mothers, and families. She is a regular contributor to The Mother magazine. Her work has also been published in Literary Mama, The Mother's Movement Online, The Birthkit, the web edition of Philadelphia Stories, and other journals. She lives with her husband and two daughters in Philadelphia.