Since the toddler turned two, life has been… Interesting? No… um.. Wild? Yes, but.. Hell? YES! Hell.
She is coming in to her own. She MUST be the one to put on her shoes. She WILL be the one to not drink out of her straw, but rather open the lid and dump the precious expensive gold that is “Organic Valley Milk” on to her lap/carseat/books. She will refuse to walk when you ask her to, she’ll slump, boneless, when prompted to get in to the car and she’ll scream for hours in her crib instead of relaxing like Mommy could do if she would only SHUT UP for an hour or two. I’m just sayin’.
Today was one of “those” days.
Running errands with a toddler is less than enjoyable (and so my heart goes out to you people with a toddler AND an infant because I’d probably have to drive off a short cliff if I had to buckle the car seat twice as much while fighting the “ME HOLD IT ME HOLD ME!” child who would take thirty hours to strap herself in). She’s a wild animal past her nap time. She’s a cream de’leatute (or whatever) of tantrums and not-listening. She’s got the “seek and destroy” portion of war down pat and when prompted can take on an entire isle including a sales lady, two old women and a man in a wheelchair. She literally can have the place dismantled within seconds.
I couldn’t be more proud.
We ventured over to Kinko’s where people are conducting business of some type or another. My new trick is to dress in my work clothes so I feel more professional when I’m going to be around other people or when I know my child, the savage beast, may make me feel less than put together. At least I can have nice shoes and a matching choker. One can always feel good with the right shoes and accessories, I say.
So here I am trying to hold myself together and look as if I know a thing or two about behaving in public while The Child hops up and down the store and pulls most things off the shelf. I conduct my business, start walking her to the car when I notice her jeans are full of milk. (Either that or her pee has turned bright while and smells of cow utter.) I reach the car and notice the milk cup turned upside down on the floor next to my prescription and a few papers I need for the OB doc. Fantastic.
Once I wrestle her in to the car, we fight over the strap “ME DO IT ME DO IT” “MOMMY WILL DO IT!” and I start driving home. She’s crying. I’m crying. It’s a regular Oprah Audience.
Lemme spare you the tantrum details, the shoes thrown at me and the screams as we go up the stairs. I tell her she’s too tired to do anything but go to bed now. “POTTY! POTTY!” NO! NO POTTY! GO TO BED! Except this feels cruel so I let her sit on the potty.
And she pees.
I think god gives us these moments to prevent the entire species from dying off. The fact that a little trickle of urine can turn a Mom’s entire focus from wanting to huck her kid across the room to doing the biggest party pee dance ever, is really why we keep going on as humans. The fact that your three week old gets those gassy smiles that make you think he really is looking in to your eyes with adoration and appreciation for the hours and hours you’ve been awake soothing him keep you from shoving the pillow over his face. This is how we, as mankind, have gone on for ages.
I’m sure during the caveman days some snotty little teenager came *this* close to getting her head bashed in to bits by a large wodden club just as she says, “Mom! I got an A on the test you helped me study for! Thank you so much for your help. I love learning!” and CaveMom stops the club, smiles, and goes about her business making dinner and thinking what a great child she helped spawn.
I’m not wrong. Trust me.
**Added: Thanks to Bloggy Gossip for the birthday wishes. Seriously. You people sure make hovering over the sink all morning not seem like such a bad day after all! XO
**Added even later: Thanks to Amalah for the Coffee Bean shout out. Curling up by the toilet is totally worth it because this lil’ guy (yes, I keep saying GUY) is already celebrated by gobs of people. And now I’m going to cry again...