Note: I wrote this post Sunday night after a particularly rough-------------------
weekend. week. MONTH. I didn't post it because I wasn't sure I was in the right frame of mind to send this out into the webiverse. After a couple of days reflection, I've decided that it is what it is. Judge me if you must. And if you do judge, I'll know for certain one thing about you. You. Don't. Have. Kids. So you don't get to experience the great misery that is the absolute joy of kids. You miss out on the Empire State building highs, and the Swamp of Sadness lows. And for that... I just feel sorry for you.
So, without further ado:
So, without further ado:
Benny made me leave the house tonight to get some "me" time. Something about unresolved anger issues towards The Toddler.
And possibly motherhood in general.
I know that as of late, I've been posting some pretty negative/pathetic things about what life is like right now with a 2-year-old and a 10-month-old. And, if I were being honest, I would clarify that most of what I finally manage to write down on the blog has been edited to within an inch of its life. Because not only am I worried that you'll judge what I REALLY think about being a mom on some days, I'm also aware that the girls will one day read this blog.
And then end up in (more) therapy.
If I'm being honest, I'm positive that my 2-year-old hates me. And these days? I'm not so much a fan of her, either. Thank God for Benny, as he is the only buffer. Hazel has a serious case of the "My Daddy's"... and she really could care less for me. Which is fine with me because most days I want to tell her to go hell. But I don't. Because I'm the strongest woman in the world. And because she's picking up words right and left these days.
If I'm being honest, if we had gone through this stage with Hazel before we got pregnant with Millie... well, I seriously doubt there would have ever been a Millie.
If I'm being honest, I thank God for Millie every day. Because while Hazel can turn to Daddy when things get rough between the two of us (approximately every 2.5 seconds), I can turn to Millie and know that at least with this one, I haven't messed up too much. Yet.
If I'm being honest, I'm pretty mucking fiserable these days. I always thought of myself as a chill, relaxed parent. One that, sure... has had my moments of blowing up at The Toddler. But those were few and far between. (Approximately every 2.6 seconds). And one thing that I always told myself (pre-children) was that I wouldn't be a yeller when I had kids. Not my style. I'm better than that. How could someone yell at a child???
If I'm being honest? It's scary how easy it is to yell at a child. It's amazing how hard it is to tamp down those emotions. Especially when it's diaper changing time and someone keeps kicking me in an effort to actually maim and injure.
And it's SO. NOT. OKAY.
No child of mine is going to kick/punch/bite/hit me and get away with it. She is not in charge around here and while I know that it's mostly our fault that she thinks she is... it's also a leetle bit of HER fault. And she needs to get her schmidt together because these Terrible Two's? Mommy is so OVER them.
And I'm doing all this work to fix myself so that I don't live the next few years of my life in hiding so as not to poke the bear that currently lives with us and tells us what to do.
And she's NOT.
She doesn't care.
And it's bullshit.
If I have to work on something, I think it's completely acceptable to ask The Toddler... who outfoxes me, her Daddy and her teacher on a daily basis, so we know she's not an idiot... to work on her schmidt, as well.
Fine. She can't read Parenting with Love and Logic (courtesy of my good friend, Mr. Texas), cuz she can't read (supposedly). But she can attempt to meet me halfway and not throw a fit when her banana breaks in half. Or her dolly looked at her wrong. Or when Mommy has the audacity to expect a little cooperation in some areas of life... or at the very least, not have every. single. situation. turn into a power struggle.
If I'm being honest, at times I feel like Artax from Never Ending Story... right before he dies in the Swamp of Sadness. If Artax was a stubborn 34-year-old mule who just couldn't go on because her 2-year-old is driving her batshit crazy. And if Artax thought she was the greatest parent in the world before she had kids. And if Artax actually complained about this stuff even though she knows parents who have it WAY worse.
In short, if Artax was a self-absored ass.
Yep. That'd be me.
And for all of you 30-somethings out there that now want to go ahead and rent NeverEnding Story (as it may be the greatest story every)(and as it will remind you of your youth and how amazing things were back then)(and make you realize that you haven't been using your imagination much lately)(which means that The Nothing has won), you are completely welcome.