Beat Up and Beat Down…

My tiny human is an asshole. You heard me. I said it. An asshole! There is a three-year old tiny asshole living in my house. And today he beat me up. No, not physically. Although he probably could take me. It won’t be much longer before he’s taller than me–I hope–because let’s be honest for a minute, short Jewish boys don’t always have much luck with the ladies!

My son is not a hitter, pusher, or biter, but when he’s pissed off and mad at mommy for telling him he can’t go to the toy store after failing miserably at being a good listener today, he can wail and scream and cry with the best of them. I probably need to invest in some ear plugs.

I know this is all because he is exhausted, but knowing why doesn’t make it any easier. We had issues getting him to bed last night which resulted in him falling asleep around 10pm. That has never happened before, not even with his new “I have to go potty” manipulation when reading time is over and bed time begins (That is a whole other blog post). He still woke up at 7am. You would think nap time would be a breeze. We do more of a quiet time these days, but every few days he falls asleep for a bit. Today was not so quiet, quiet time. Rather than nap or read in his bed like he usually does, he chose to destroy the place. Books everywhere, piggy bank dumped out, picture frames torn apart, and clothes pulled out of his drawers and closet. When I went in to get him, he informed me he was not cleaning it up–that he wanted mommy to clean it up by herself. Hell no little asshole.

 

After finally negotiating with him for some clean up help, we moved to the couch for some Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. I thought his assholeness was behind us. I couldn’t have been more wrong. He wanted the Mickey episode with the giant and the chicken in it? The what? I put an episode on with the chicken. He screamed there was no giant. I asked him if he wanted the sleepover episode with the giant. He said yes. I put that one on. He wailed. What the fuck do you want buddy?

I carried him to the dinner table. I put his plate down in front of him with chicken, spinach littles, rice, and apple sauce. He kept screaming. “NO RICE! I WANT PASTA!” Rice is what you are having. If you don’t want to eat it, don’t. More screams. He says he wants daddy. Daddy comes home and tries to sit and he screams more. “THAT IS MOMMY’S SPOT. SHE SITS THERE WITH ME AND READS ME BOOKS.” Make up your fucking mind. Do you want mommy here or not? I got up and left him at the table. If you’re going to scream, mommy can’t sit with you and read you a book. He finally stopped. Only to resume minutes later when it was time for pajamas and bed.

Where is my sweet little boy? Today he was replaced by a demon. I’m sure all you moms know what I’m talking about. I know tantrums and meltdowns will happen, especially at this age. Anytime he has to stop what he is doing and doesn’t want to, he has one. Those are getting better and we are getting better with handling them.

But the almost three hours of screaming tantrum meltdown just beat me down today. It’s times like these where I just want to shut down and drown out all the noise. I have visions of checking in to a hotel for the night alone…with wine, takeout, Netflix, and uninterrupted sleep to keep me company. I need to feel childless for just a moment. Don’t get me wrong, I love my son to the moon and back, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t times when I hate being a parent and I don’t feel like being one. Don’t you?

I wasn’t going to write. I just wanted to zone out on the couch with a book while my husband cooked me dinner. My mom suggested I write about feeling beat down. She was right as usual. See moms, we usually get to be right. And now I feel a little better. My tiny asshole is asleep and tomorrow is a new day, where hopefully he will go back to being my tiny human.

Let me just say that I believe it is perfectly acceptable to call your child an asshole. Because let’s face it, sometimes our children are assholes. Don’t even try to tell me your little one is the picture of model behavior. Bullshit! Why pretend? It feels better not to. It feels much better to be real about it. We all know this shit is hard and some days it just plain sucks. That’s what alcohol and chocolate and mom friends are for. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that my husband and I are doing the Whole30 and I will not be the one to mess it up. No alcohol, no sugar…and it’s only week two. Fuck me! I guess my mom friends will have to listen to my bitching since I can’t ease it with wine and carbs. That’s ok–I know nothing makes them happier!


***I know I’ve gotten away from my postpartum depression survival story, but I promise I’m going back there for my next post. I have so much more to share with all of you and it’s coming very soon–as in the next few days pending no more mental ass-kickings from my little one. So stay tuned and stay with me…I am beyond grateful for all the love, support, and comments I have received as a result of talking about this very real issue that affects so many of us moms. I will never stop!

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