Mama Don't Play That

We don't hit Mommy.  We don't hit Mommy.  WE. DON'T. HIT. MOMMY. 

How many times did I have to say that this morning?  How many meltdowns is is possible for a 2-year-old to have in the 90 minutes between waking up and leaving for school? 

So far?  Our personal record is 5.

FIVE. MELT. DOWNS.

Five timeouts.

Five times I had to remind myself that I chose to bring this demon into our lives.

Five times I had to remind myself that she's not actually a demon.  Just two-ish.  (A demonic two-ish.)

Five times I had to breathe in and out and tamp down the simmering volcano inside of me that wanted to shoot out of my ears, mouth and nose and show her what a REAL meltdown looked like... so don't even mess with Mommy right now, mkay? 

Five times I had to check myself before I wrecked myself.

Because this kid... she's on my last nerve.  I mean MY. LAST. MOTHA.EFFIN. NERVE.

It all started because... I dunno, the sky was too blue today.  So, Benny had to take The Bird to her room for a quick timeout.  Then, after he left for work... and she turned into a puddle of misery because: "My. Dadddddddyyyyyyy!".  Oh the pain!  The absolute misery of being a little girl who loves her Daddy sooooo much. 

But, but, BUT... I was able to distract her with a little Super Why.  And let me just say right now:  GOD BLESS SUPER WHY.  Because that damn cartoon gave me a whopping 3 minutes of non-whining/non-crying... relative peace.

That is until I did the unthinkable and attempted to dress The Bird.  OMG... the humanity!  That I, the mother... the rational thinking person in this relationship... would think that pants - PANTS! - were appropriate attire when clearly I should have known that she would rather wear saran wrap and set her hair on fire. 

Holy geez... that's timeout #2

Timeout #3 occurred a few moments after she said sorry and came out of her room... and continued to fight the idea of clothes.... and then hit me in the face.

So. Not. Down. With. That.

During this timeout, The Bird came out of her room (still crying) and when I asked her if she was ready to be nice and apologize, she said NO WAY! (shocking), and ran back to her room.  Where she slammed her pocket sliding door shut... right on her fingers.  I won't lie... there was a tiny moment of satisfaction that came because FINALLY!  SHE HAS SOMETHING TO REALLY CRY ABOUT... AND I DIDN'T GIVE HER SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT LIKE I THINK TO MYSELF ALL THE TIME... LIKE MY DAD USED TO SAY TO ME!  I WIN!!! I AM THE STRONGEST WOMAN ON EARTH!!!!  HAHAHAHAHAHA! 

So, timeout #3 ended with hugs and kisses... but no apology. Because, hey, I like to play the world-weary, hardened, stone-cold mother on my blog but my baby gets legitimately hurt?  I will smother her with kisses to make it better.

So, let's see... we're at three timeouts already.  One for the sky being blue.  Two for freaking out over clothes.  Three for hitting Mommy in the face.  What could possibly be next?

Timeout #4... for PUNCHING Mommy in the face when I explained that we would not be having cake for second breakfast.  (Cake is only for first breakfast).  When she first took a swing at me, I was able to duck and think to myself:  "Did what I think just happened, just. happen?" 

I quickly determined that I had not imagined it and gave Hazel The Look. 

As in THEEEEE Look.  

As in... "*$&*#;%@.  Mama don't play that.  Don't EVEN go there."  

 And I sternly and calmly said:  "No.  Hitting.  DON'T. GO. THERE."

And guess who went there?

Holy mother of all that is holy.  This child is trying my patience like no other.  I understand she's going to make mistakes.  And I understand that she's trying to learn how to communicate.  I also freakin' understand that this kid can talk and use her words but she's just being a little snot. So... OMG... timeout #4 was a BIG ONE.  It's been a couple of hours now and I'm still so pissed off at the whole thing, I can barely think. 

Timeout #5 came right after she apologized for hitting me and asked for some water.  I filled up her sippy and she said:  "No wid."  Which is toddler for "No lid, please.  I'd like to make sure I spill all of this water down my shirt right before we leave for school.  Kthanxbai."

"Sorry, honey.  We have to have a lid, otherwise you spill it."

"No wid!  No wid!  NO WID!"

"Your choice.  You can have water with a lid, or no water at all."

At that point, I set the sippy on the table and went to the door to grab my coat because, after all, it's been 4 timeouts.  It's time to get out of the house.  I have to go to work... just so I can think straight.

That's when I heard what sounded suspiciously like a toddler picking up a sippy and then slamming it on the floor... which caused the lid to pop off and water to go everywhere.

Sonofa.... "Okay... you have to help clean up the mess you just made."

Which fell on deaf ears because... SOMEONE WAS IN THE DEPTHS OF DESPAIR BECAUSE OMG... WATER!  MY WATER!  EVERYWHERE!  END OF DAYS.  END. OF. DAAAAYYYSSSS.

Which led to timeout #5 because the depths of despair include screaming and more screaming and MOMMY COULDN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE.

Poor Millie... this kid never gets any attention in the morning.  Hazel makes sure of that.

We have a problem.  A big, big problem.

That problem being a nasty case of the twos. 

And a nastier case of Mama's Over It. 

So nasty, in fact, that I'm debating picking up The Bird from daycare tonight.  Because it's been two straight weeks of hell with her and I just don't want to buckle in for another night of pure hell.  Because that's what two straight weeks have conditioned me for.  Pure, unadulterated AWFULNESS.  I deserve - WE ALL DESERVE - a night of peace.  A night of giggles and grins.  A night of no timeouts, no meltdowns, no hitting, kicking or screaming.

We have to have nights of joy to gird us up for the nights of misery.  My joy tank is almost on empty with The Bird.  While my misery tank RUNNETH OVAH.

And if we hit empty on the joy tank without a refill... there's not enough alcohol or Crossfit in the world to make it better.

And that's no way to live.