Friday, November 14, 2014

Two really IS terrible

I love my son.
I adore my son.
I really, really, really, really, really, REALLY do.... love AND adore my son.

But lately,

I'm OVER him. And frankly, some days... I just. can't. stand. him.

He's two.

That should be enough explanation right there. Shouldn't it?

Ever hear that quote, "BE THE KIND OF WOMAN WHO, WHEN YOUR FEET HIT THE FLOOR IN THE MORNING, THE DEVIL SAYS, 'OH NO, SHE'S UP!" ? 

That's how I feel about him these days. I hear him in his bed in the morning and I groan.
Because... maybe he SOUNDS happy... but I know that'll quickly change.

I can go in and get him with a smile on my face and a sing-song voice...,
"Good morning, sweet boy!" 

Annnnnnnd he's not happy to see me because he wanted DADDY to get him and NOT Mommy.
Really?
I just LOVE starting my mornings like that.
Conflict from the get-go.  

Then there's breakfast.
He refuses to eat cereal, eggs, sausage, oatmeal, fruit, yogurt.... ALL of the things he used to eat every single day before he turned two.
NOW?
Nothing.
He eats nothing.
I used to think I was so fortunate that I had a baby that would literally eat anything I put in front of him.
NOW? I'm lucky if I get two or three bites of Cheerios in him before he's up from the table and claiming he's, "All done!?!?!" And running away.

He refuses to sit in a high chair. And trying to get him INTO a high chair is like trying to give a cat a bath. So we gave up.

So meal time is like musical chairs... he's up, he's down, he's up again, he's under the table, he's down the hall, he's back and sitting in a different seat.
Short of holding him down at the table and sitting ON him.  What can we do?

Anyway...

So after he's "all done" with his "breakfast" ... fifteen or twenty minutes later he's back and asking for something else.
And usually it's Cheez-its or Pirate Booty.
At 8 AM? I don't think so.
Although some days I'm already so worn down by 8 that it seems like,
"Whats the harm? Pirate booty for breakfast? At least it's something!"
(Note: I don't actually allow pirate booty at 8 AM, I don't allow that until at LEAST 8:30.)

There is always, ALWAYS a meltdown when I say no to the snacky food and offer a banana or apple instead.
As sure as the sky is blue... there is a meltdown.
I can almost set a clock to it.
And it's always about the same time of morning that I'm silently cursing out my husband for working in an office.  I imagine him with a warm cup of coffee in his hand... standing at the desk of a co-worker, chuckling over some office humor... while I'm standing my ground over a GOD DAMN CUP OF TEDDY GRAHAMS.

Living with my two year old is like living with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
He is as sweet as can be... and at any given moment he can turn on you and you have no idea why.

He talks about his babysitter all day long... talks about her car, is she home?, is she coming tomorrow? in a couple minutes?
When she actually arrives in the morning... he flips out.  He clings to my legs, wants to be held, wants ZERO part of the sitter.  The transition is a nightmare... every. single. day. As if he's meeting her for the first time every single day. It's like the movie, 50 first dates... I have to remind him daily how fun she is and how much he actually does like her.   I don't get it.

He's irrational.
He'll ask me for random things that I can't give him.

"Go to Nanny's house today? Go swimming in pool?"
Umm.... dude, we live in Connecticut... Nanny lives in New Jersey... not to mention that it's NOVEMBER and effing freezing out.
I try to explain all of these things...and you can imagine how well that goes over...

"GO SWIMMING!!!!!!!! NANNY'S POOL!!!!!!" *tears* *screaming* *door slamming*

Oh. My. God.

And he'll follow me around the house. Clinging to my leg... demanding to go swim at my mother's pool ... in New Jersey on a random Wednesday morning... in the month of November.

This is not an exaggeration.

And I swear he didn't do this at age 23 months.  It was two.
It all happened at the stroke of midnight when he turned two.
Cinderella's coach turned into a pumpkin at midnight.
My son turned into an irrational lunatic.

I used to think that living with three girls born within two years of each other was exhausting. The drama that they bring to the table can drive anyone to drink.  Well... my two year old has all three of them beat.

He's bossy.
He's emotional.
He's stubborn.
He's whiny.
He cries at the drop of a hat.
He refuses to hear the word no.
He's two. And it's TERRIBLE.

But he's sweet. He really is. (Ugh. I'm struggling even typing that today)

Getting him dressed is like attending a rodeo. I've been kicked in the face more times than I can count.  Getting him dressed is a workout. Like, a HARD workout.  Like, a sweat inducing, heavy breathing... WORKOUT. I'm not putting him into a tuxedo or three piece suit.   It shouldn't be this difficult, am I right?

Baths? He loves baths. Except for when he HATES baths.
And I never know when that will be.
He doesn't want to take a bath.  
I get him, struggling and fighting, into the tub.
He doesn't want to take a bath.
I wash his hair while he cries.
He doesn't want to take a bath.
I scrub him up while he screams.  
I go to get him out... Annnnnnnd HE DOESN'T WANT TO GET OUT!
It's mind boggling.

How about car rides? Simple enough.
Ohhhhhh not so.

I'll drive 10 or 15 minutes OUT OF MY WAY to find a drive-thru in order to avoid taking him out of the car and putting him back in.

Getting him out of the car...
He wants to get out the other side of the car. NOT the side that I'm on.
Obviously. Because that's convenient.
And he wants to open and close the door himself, "MY TURN! I DO IT!!"
Fine. (insert deep breath and sigh here)

Getting him out of the car can take a good ten minutes. And believe it or not... it's easier to get him out than it is to get him back in.

This is not an exaggeration.

If we go into a store... he refuses to get into a cart. He wants to walk. And because I actually want to get something accomplished at the store(silly me)... I want him in the cart.
I literally have to strong arm him into the seat and there's tears(his and mine) and I'm sweating.
And strangers are staring...because strong arming him into a cart looks an awful lot like physical abuse.

"If you would just bend your legs and put your feet through the openings... we could get on our way and get out of here... " And he's screaming, "NO MOM!!! NO CART!! WALK!!!!"

And then there's the screaming through the store,  "ALL DONE!!! ALL DONE!! HOME!!!"
(I'm having a panic attack just typing this, by the way)

And I think to myself, "I used to be able to get through a store with a three year old and two one year old's easier than this!!!"

Now there's getting him back in the car.  He gets in the actual car, but he wants to close the door himself.  OK.
But then he tries to close both back doors himself which prevents me from being able to get him buckled into his seat.  That is, if he actually GOT INTO THE DAMN SEAT.

He stands in the aisle of the car... almost taunting me... with a little grin on his face.
I ask him nicely, "Please get into your seat... we have to get going."
He ignores me.
I TELL him, "Get into your seat.  I'm going to drive the car."
He ignores me again.
He's really, really good at ignoring me.

At this point, one of two things happens...

1. I grab him by his arm and wrestle him into his seat. He arches his back, kicks his legs, swings his arms and screams... making it nearly impossible to get him strapped into his seat because I'm using one arm to hold him down into the seat... and I need two hands to actually buckle the belt.

2. I give up.  I close the door. I get into the driver seat. I turn on the car. I back out of the parking spot... making sure to tap the brake hard enough to make him stumble in the back of the car and get nervous enough to climb into his seat and beg to buckled in. 

If you're reading this you're either applauding me or you're ready to call child protective services.

Either way, I'm just trying to survive over here.

There are days when I'd like to throw in the towel...give in to his every whim, bribe him with lollipops, and allow pirate booty for breakfast... and, of course, there are days when I sometimes DO. Because honestly, sometimes I just want a tantrum free trip to the grocery store.
Is that REALLY too much to ask for?

But for the most part... I wake up every day and brace myself for a ton of tears and whining and tantrums, armed with what I hope to be a never ending fountain of patience and love.
And by the end of the day, I'm exhausted and that never ending fountain of patience? It's tapped dry.
 
There is NO doubt that my little guy has been the greatest joy for our entire family...and there is no doubt that he is so, SO loved.
But there are those days when he's making me want to beat my head against the wall over and over and over again that I really DO have to remind myself that I love him.

I mean, this too shall pass, right?
He can't be a little jerk forever....can he? (Please say no. Please say no.)

*sigh*

Well, here's to his two-ness not lasting forever... and with that, the hope that age three isn't somehow worse.
Oh God.


Peace, Love & RIGHT NOW