Happy Halloween, also known as the day where my four-year old dresses up in an overpriced costume that he doesn’t let me choose for him anymore and collects candy from strangers’ houses that his mommy and daddy will eat while he is sleeping.
Today, I thought I would share some parenting horror stories from real parents because we all have them. And there is nothing more horrifying than explosive poop and projectile vomit! So get those baby wipes ready!
Ozzy, at two-and-a –half, was in the middle of potty-training. I was in the kitchen making dinner and he was happily playing in the living room when all of a sudden the smell wafted in. I turn around to find he had had the presence of mind to pull his pants and underwear down to do his poo. But instead of going in his potty, mere feet away, he shat on the fancy rug (from Harrods no less) in the middle of the living room. Knowing he’d been naughty, he went and found his toy Dyson vacuum and proceeded to “vacuum” up his poo…all over and into the posh rug. Into the toy Dyson. All over his feet. Poo footprints all over my house. I almost passed out with a heady combination of rage and hysterical laughter. Terrible twos indeed!
-Jenn, Mom of Ozzy and Maddy
I vent about motherhood all the time. I’m just not one to sugar-coat or keep it to myself. There is no filter on this mommy, but I know that’s what you all love so much about me. Sure being Mason’s mommy is amazing, but I’m also really fucking tired, like all of the time no matter what I do. I wouldn’t mind an all expense-paid vacation to a hotel for just one night ALONE, where I could sleep, sleep more, wake up, and then sleep even more. No one would barge in on me in the bathroom and I wouldn’t have to negotiate any critical, time-sensitive matters such as how many pieces of broccoli one must eat before being allowed to leave the dinner table or how many minutes of playtime one gets before nap time. Or how many stickers one must receive on the poop reward chart before picking out a toy at the store.
I complain about my three-year old a lot. Of course I love him more than anything, but most days I feel like I’m raising a tiny terrorist. And on good days? The most adorable tiny terrorist you will ever meet. If three-year olds had dating profiles, my son’s would start with: Mason Schwartz – master manipulator with a killer smile, gorgeous green eyes, great hair and winner of the bedtime battle of wills with the heart-melting phrase, “But I haven’t given you a kiss and hug yet.”
Even though I vent and complain and rant and curse…a lot, there truly are incredible moments. It can be pretty fucking awesome! To remind myself of this when I’m struggling down in those trenches with my bossy, whiny, and tantrum-throwing drill-sergeant little one, I’m going to write about how amazing I still think he can be. And he can be really amazing and say and do amazing things. I used to cringe when hearing parents talk about how incredible it was to see and rediscover the world through their children’s eyes. How cheesy, right?