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Tuesday, March 24, 2015

My Toddler is Kind of a Jerk, Ya'll.

Remember my sweet, angel child who ate like a champ, and went down to sleep with little to no fight, and loved her bed?

Well that chick is gone, man.

Who or what has replaced her in a terminator-like toddler robot hell bent on the destruction of my sanity.  Well that may be going a bit far. But she IS kind of a jerk now.

It's not like I'm saying I don't still love her and enjoy her. I'm just saying that if someone re-imagined a production of A Christmas Carol with an all-children cast, I imagine the lead would be played by a two year old.

Repent your ways, Ebenezer King! Or, just keep dumping those cheerios on the floor and crushing them with your bare feet. Whatever.

Today I actually went into my bedroom and closed the door, right in the middle of the morning's one millionth tantrum over nothing. (Mommy! Bubbles. No, Violet I'm eating. Let mommy eat. NO EAT, MOMMY. BUBBLES.)

I sat on my bed and made my grocery list in peace while I heard her tiny voicebox creating the loudest noise imaginable ever to come out of a 27lb human being, whilst banging her fist on the door and saying "MOOOOOOMMY! OUUUUT!"

I closed my eyes and I thought, "I just don't want to talk to anyone right now. I just want to be alone. And maybe with a glass of wine. And some cheese. And some oreos, if we have them."

We do have them. But I can't eat them at any point from 6am until 7:30pm any given day because my toddler has some sort of spidey-sense about what I've gotten into in the pantry and comes running full speed any time she hears the bag crinkle open. I don't want to share my oreos. Not today. Not ever, if we're being honest.

And every night now, after bath time, I get to play American Gladiator as I wrestle a squealing naked 34 inch tyrant to the ground to get on a diaper, a quick layer of lotion and some matching (or whatever I can grab quickly) pajamas before "reading" the Mickey Mouse flap book for the 100th time that I so stupidly got her for her birthday. Then it's on to the struggle of blue blanket/pink blanket for an extra 30 minutes. I hand her her pink blanket. "No pink. Blue blanket, mama." So I hand her the blue blanket. "No blue, mama. Pink."

Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Until I throw both of them in her crib and make a mental note to take one out after she's fallen asleep.

After 7:30 to 8pm, I'm finally free to relax and enjoy an episode of Pretty Little Liars or New Girl. Or, to fall asleep on the couch, which is more likely to happen.

And yet, despite these trying times, I wake up each morning excited to see her again. And excited to spend some time with her, and see what funny things she'll say or do, and what amazing things she'll learn today.

And I wake up each day willing to try to make her happy. And that's what motherhood is about, right? The trying? So I figure, even if I shut the door for a minute, I'm still doing ok.

Happy Tuesday, everyone. May the Oreos be always flowing.

Love,
Dominique