Friday, December 9, 2011

This is War

SOS!  Man, down!  Or should I say, Mom down.  I think I’ve just been assaulted by my baby.  With a sippy cup.  I always knew it would come to this.  I’ve fought the good fight, but it may be time to raise the white flag.  I am FORTY-ONE after all, for goodness’ sake.  My body just can’t take this kind of abuse, even from a pint-sized enemy who happens to pack an explosive right hook. 

I survived the “Terrible Twos” with Big Sister, but I’m frightened I may not come out on the other side with this little brute.   At the age of 15 months, I think he is already stronger than I am.  I have no doubt that he could take me down, especially when sparked by his frustration at not being allowed to manhandle the cat.  I hope the cat appreciates that I took one for the team.  Next time, you’re on your own, Mittens.

As I sit here with an ice pack on my left temple, I reflect back on when Big Sister was this age.  Was she like this, too?  I don’t think so.  But I definitely have selective memories of her 2nd and 3rd years.  Probably due to post-traumatic stress disorder from ongoing subjection to her emotional outbursts.  The difference this time around is that she was more adept at psychological warfare, whereas, Baby Boy is 100% physical combat. 

It’s true, it really is in their DNA.  Before his first birthday, one of the only words Baby Boy could say was “BALL”.  First thing when he gets up in the morning, he bangs on the patio door, chanting “BALL!  BALL!”  And he’s obsessed with finding a “goal” for his ball, whether it be the trash can, diaper pail or a nice round wicker basket.  Typical male…obsessed with sticking things in holes.

What I should be doing is working out at the gym, with a training regimen similar to Rocky’s.  Then this might be more of an even match.  But when do I have time to go to the gym?  Or the energy, for that matter. 

You know, I recently read a research report titled, “When Kids Are Young, Moms Exercise Less!”  No…really?!?!?!  You idiots are sitting around in research institutions thinking of what to do next, and this is the best you can come up with? What happened to finding a cure for cancer?  You have just wasted precious research dollars to tell us what every mom of young children already knows.  There just aren’t enough hours in the day, I’m afraid.

Back to the subject at hand…we’re right smack-dab in the middle of that really embarrassing/exhausting phase, where he has discovered that there’s lots of cool stuff around here & out in the world that he can’t have, and he’s highly pissed off, as a result of being denied these things he wants to touch/have/eat. 

So,  a nice outing up to Big Sister’s school for Parent Lunch turns into Baby Boy trying to eat the food off all the other kid’s trays, howling in protest when I tell him no and remove his hands from said trays, ending in an embarrassing exit with him horizontal in my arms, shrieking like a wild banshee.

Someone actually suggested to me recently that we bring sweet Baby Boy to a lovely Candlelight Christmas Eve service at church.  Um, that would not be enjoyable for ANYONE involved.  Not even God. The couple of times we’ve taken him to church to see Big Sister sing in the choir, he has lasted all of ten minutes, before trying to get down, tear the pages out of the Bibles and Hymnals and then take off down the aisle, screeching at the top of his lungs.

So, this is the story of my life…again.  Here I am back going head-to-head with someone half my size but with a will of steel.  And a wildly explosive little toddler temper.  So, to all my friends who see me out in public making these embarrassing exits from school, the grocery store, etc., please have mercy on me.  Say a prayer for me.  Invite me out for a glass of wine, or better yet drop a bottle off at my front door.

Hubby made a wise observation the other day, as we were both frazzled and trying to get a grip on things.  And here it is:  someday we will be old (like, really old) and alone, and we will look back on this time and say to each other, “Remember how much fun it was when the kids were young? “  See, it’s just like high school.  You look back now on it nostalgically and think it was great!  But at the time, going through it, it really sucked, at times.

So, today I’m patting myself on the back for making it through another day unharmed.  Hubby will be home from work soon, I’ve got “Yo Gabba Gabba” on a permanent loop, and I’ve just discovered that an ice-cold St. Arnold’s Christmas Ale doubles quite nicely as an ice pack.

Yes, I’m sure I will look back on this fondly, someday.  Depending on how quickly the Ale kicks in, maybe sooner than that.

1 comment:

  1. Amen. You are not alone! However in my case, I am trying to figure out a 2 1/2 yr old girl. Even at 7, Jack usually puts on whatever clothes I hand him. Annelise, not so much. She has definite opinions on things I didn't expect. And, I find myself, a weary 42 yr old trying to figure out how to keep her in the cart at Target. I hope folks have mercy on me, too.

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