(Editor's note: This article originally appeared on Babble.com. It has been reprinted here with permission. The Walt Disney Co. is the parent company of both ABC News and Babble.)

“It’s time to go,” I tell my little girl, getting down on her level to let her know we need to leave the park. Instead of coming compliantly, though, she pulls back her arm and hits me in the face, all the while screaming, “No!” at the top of her lungs.

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It’s not even the first time this has happened that day. And as I look around at the faces of other parents around us, embarrassment washes over me and I think, “My toddler is beating me.”

I am one of those women who fought incredibly hard to become a mother, after facing the very real possibility that my dream of motherhood would never come true. The day my daughter was born was the happiest of my life, as I held her close to my chest and realized I was more in love than I had ever even imagined possible.

Our past two years together have been mostly amazing. I routinely brag about what an easy baby she was: sleeping through the night at six weeks, always happy and smiling, and potty trained by 2. She is smart and funny, sweet and loving.

There are days when she will grab me out of nowhere for a hug and a quick “wub you” (love you, in toddler) and my heart just melts.

But, lately, there is another side of my sweet and vibrant little girl. A side that can only be described as the onset of those terrible twos we’ve all heard so much about. Tantrums have set in with a ferocity I never expected and, without warning, my loving little girl turns into a head-spinning, face-hitting, hair-pulling monster.

She had thrown tantrums before, but never to this extreme. In the past, her fits were almost always linked to a missed nap or being sick, and those moments were few and far between.

This last month, though? We’ve had at least a tantrum a day, almost always the result of her not getting something she wants. And when my girl tantrums, if I am anywhere near her vicinity, she hits me in the face to express her rage.

At first, it was one of those things I tried to brush off as normal. I punished her for the behavior, of course. There were timeouts and talks, and at the end of every tantrum, we hugged and discussed why it isn’t kind to hit, while also practicing “nice touches.”

I’ve said things like, “We don’t hit each other,” “Mommy doesn’t hit you so you don’t hit mommy,” “We’re a team, we have to be kind to one another,” and, “When you are mad, you can tell mommy, but you cannot hit.”

In the moment, once her anger has dissipated, she seems to understand these sentiments. She says, “sowwy,” cuddles against me, and appears to even feel remorseful for her actions.

But the next time a fit comes around, she’s hitting me in the face all over again.

As the weeks have gone by, it has grown harder for me to deal with this hitting, for so many reasons, not the least of which being that I fear her aggressive behavior is a reflection of my parenting. Something I once yearned for so badly, but now seem to be failing at.

While I realize on a logical level this isn’t the case, and that her behavior really is within the realm of normal for her age, every strike to the face has me questioning myself.

The truth is, I honestly don’t know what more I should be doing.

I only know that it is important to me to raise a kind and compassionate child, and right now, I have a little girl who hits when she is angry.

Add into that frustration and worry some basic life stress — a water heater leak displaced us from our home and a lingering illness had me feeling exhausted and sick — and I was probably primed for a breakdown a few weeks ago when my little girl began in on a fit as I tried to buckle her into her car seat after day care. She wasn’t ready to go. She wanted to keep playing. And so, she took her cup and pulled it back, gaining extra momentum before striking it against my face.

Immediately, I burst into tears. For the first time, one of her hits had actually hurt me. My lip was busted open and I could taste the blood. The shock, frustration and pain all collided at once, and there I was, crying in front of my toddler.

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