I finally understand why some animals eat their young. I’m kidding.
I feel disloyal complaining about Harrison being two or a toddler or all boy because 90% of the time, he is an absolute joy & my BFF. Fomer difficult baby = supreme awesome toddler. But then there’s the occasional day where he wakes up with a rabid bee up his ass & it’s like he did lines of pixie sticks & rage.
Saturday was that day. He woke up piss-angry at the universe & with Doug playing in a golf tournament all day, it was ALL MOMMA ALL THE TIME. He’s all NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, ANYONE BUT THE LADY WITH THE BIRTH CANAL & LOUD LAUGH. I made him pancakes for breakfast – he threw them on the floor. I turned on Curious George – he screamed for Bob the Builder. He begged to go outside – it was pouring rain. We had a showing so I scrambled to straighten before heading out the door, sweating & looking a hot damn mess. We hit up Chick Fil A, his favorite sliding spot but since it was 10:30, there were no other “babies” there. Cue more you-killed-my-puppy-&-served-it-as-stir-fry tears. Came home & put the kid in bed where he threw the most epic rebellion since the American Revolution & 5 minutes after he finally quieted, God decided it was an awesome time to play a joke on me.
So it thundered.
Long story short, I opened a beer at 5pm on the nose & had the kid in bed by 7:30pm. When Doug got home late (thanks to the rain), I was pretty much drooling into a pillow with rat nest hair. But that’s just motherhood some days…it’s a freaking war zone & you come out with as few scars as possible & praise God that you’re still alive.
& that you didn’t serve toddler with sides of green beans & biscuits.
(Then I’m mid-writing this all down but he begs to be rocked before bed & I ask him if he wants Momma to tell him a story so he says, “yeah, cool” into the crook of my neck & my heart putters out. I’m totally ready to do this all over again tomorrow.)