My mom asked me last night how I’ve been. My reply was OVERWHELMED. I notice signs often through out the day telling me I’m heading back down that spirally dark place again. When I notice this happening the hardest part is realizing that I notice it the most in my parenting.
I don’t know if Brandon is just experimenting lately with ways to annoy me or if it’s just the monster in me that makes him so hard to handle. Either way he’s spent a lot of time in time out. Right now the issue at hand is not listening. This isn’t general toddler assholey not listening either, this is a new form that I call FUCKYOUMOM. I tell him to do something like “finish your pancakes.” He will look at me and say no. Then he will just walk away. Then ask for something, to which I reply, “finish your pancakes.” To which he replies “I SAID NO.” It goes round and round and before you know it he’s in time out. Time out used to mean he would sit in there and be quiet because he was still playing with his toys. Now it means he screams and cries to the point where I’d rather let him sit out here and be a bossy little asshole to me then listen to him fucking cry in time out for five minutes.
He wants more milk and I told him no milk till you finish his pancakes. His choice is then to sit at the table and bang his milk cup until he bangs all fucking sanity from my head and I end up yelling, “FINISH YOUR PANCAKES OR GO TO TIME OUT.” His reply was, “NO I WANT NILK NOW NOW NOW RIGHT NOW MOMMY NOW.”
Can you guess where he is?
He’s sitting in his room crying, “I don’t want to be in time out.” So I told him, “Brandon if you don’t want to be in time out finish your pancakes.” He came out and started crying for me to hold him. I told him to finish his pancakes, that was part of the deal to getting out of time out. Instead he chooses to sit here and cry to me that he won’t eat his pancakes, he wants daddy, and that the is “SO SAD.” While every bone in my body just wants to hold him and make him stop crying the brain in my head says, NO Shannon he needs to learn to listen to you. He is now back in his room in time out crying and crying and crying about daddy. In case you are wondering he can actually cry in his room for a god 30 minutes before I will have no choice but to go in and get him so he can go to school.
I don’t understand why he can’t just have the sense to listen to ME. He listens to his teacher, his dad, my mom, my dad, the kid across the street, my cousins and fuck he probably would listen to the mailman. So why is it only me that my son refuses to respect?
Last night he wanted a toy. I told him he could have it if he just put away his three other toys. He actually cried on the floor of his room for 25 minutes about not cleaning toys and wanting daddy. What do I do in those situations? Do I go in and try and appease him or let him scream? Some days parenting is so hard. All I know is at the end of the day, he’s doing a lot of crying and yelling and so am I.
Yesterday he asked me for some whipped cream. I told him tomorrow at breakfast he could have it on his pancakes. So he went and asked dad. Dad said okay. Rob was in the bathroom so he had no idea I had said no, but still, it just aggravated me that he didn’t listen and went and asked Rob.
Codi is going through a phase where he won’t sleep with out a boob perma-affixed in his mouth. That means from about 9pm till about 5am he is attached to me like the handle I crazy glued back to my coffee mug. If I try and pull him off and lay him down he starts screaming immediately. The odd thing is he naps fine during the day. The more obnoxious part is a few weeks ago he started a new thing where he would have some milk, pull himself off, roll over and sleep all on his own. Now I feel like I sleep with a tiny suckerfish, only it’s a suckerfish who farts and cries a lot.
My husband plays softball till September and as much as I know he needs a hobby I’m pretty much sick of softball. I guess softball wouldn’t be so bad if I had a hobby too. I am trying to pick up running but it’s hard to run when the days he doesn’t have softball he wants to work out or drive all the way out to the field to hit balls. I got to run on Tuesday, and won’t get to again until Friday because he had a game Wednesday and tonight he’s driving all the way clear across town, wasting gas to hit balls. This probably would be fine if he didn’t leave me home alone with a 3 year old who insists on spending the first 25 minutes crying about missing daddy, the next 30 minutes crying about how mean I am for making him clean, the next 30 minutes crying because I won’t let him have sugar for dinner, 8 minutes crying because the phone rand and I need to talk on it not him, and the next 45 minutes crying because it is dark outside and he wants to go to sleep with daddy not take a bath and wait for daddy. All this time he is screaming my baby is screaming for a tit, or to be held or played with, and when I’m in a downward spirally kind of spot it’s easy to say softball can really be the straw that broke the camels back. And by broke I mean snapped it in half, then beat it with a dead stick, then locked it in the closet and buried it alive.
I actually sent my husband a text last night saying I was going to lock myself in the closet to hide from all the screaming. If you’re wondering Brandon is still in his room screaming over and over and over DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY. All the fucking kid had to do was eat his last goddamn pancake.
It’s been 33 minutes. He is still screaming. We have to leave for school in 26 minutes and I have 3 people to get ready. I guess mom has to give in and go get him one more time. I just walked by his door and noticed he’s not only crying and yelling for daddy he’s actually laying on the floor kicking his feet as he does it.
So. For those of you wondering how I’m doing? I’m barely holding on. I’m feeling like a fucking asshole. I’m snappy and rude and cranky and bitchy. I’m doing a lot of bitching. I’m doing a lot of poor me, and I’m pretty sure I walk around with a fixed scowl on my face!
I saw the doctor the other day, and she followed up with me about where I was last time we talked. Last time I talked to her was the day I found out I was pregnant with Codi. She asked my thoughts on starting medicine and agreed that if I can hold out for the sake of breast-feeding that I should. Something in the way I was talking to her made her ask me how I was. I guess she could see the big FUCK YOU sign on my head or something. Either way, she wants me to call her as soon as I wean so we can talk more about making me less of a fucker and more of a lover!
** Update: It’s now been one hour and 7 minutes of him laying on the floor alternating between screaming about daddy and nilk. I finally opened the door and calmly said, “Brandon stop crying.” I asked him if he was talking to me like a big boy and he said no. I said what do you have to do to get the milk and he replied, “ask nicely, stop crying.” So I asked what he wanted to do, he stopped crying, looked at me and said, “I have nilk please?” He’s okay now but I’m not. I’m mad I yelled. I’m mad I got so mad about it all. I’m mad that I can’t always handle being a mom. Maybe I’m not mad maybe I’m more sad.