You know when you have your newborn, generally your first-born and they don’t sleep. You are so tired. You had no idea it was possible to be THAT tired. Other than doing a night shift for you, no one can really help. All they can say is ‘it’s just a phase’, ‘it doesn’t last forever’, ‘you will be trying to get them out of bed before you know it’. It’s well-meant but it doesn’t exactly help when you’re so hormonal and knackered that the person talking to you has 4 heads.
Nearly three years on however I find myself begging for someone to reassure me that I am currently elbow deep in ‘just another phase’. That my child isn’t a brat, or demonic. It is just another boundary pushing, developmental, wanky phase that us humans have all gone through as some form of right of passage before we are fully moulded, socially acceptable adults.
You see at the moment the demeanour of my not far off three-year old has changed. My pleasant, happy, easy-going little lady is currently putting Kevin and Perry to shame and sending me hurtling ever faster to my 7.01pm glass of wine. I love her dearly but if she ever reads this I will be sure to reminder that sometimes her behaviour, of late, has been a giant pain in the arse. I however live in hope that it is just a phase and she is doing nothing that your average terrible two or threenager isn’t doing. Right people? Help a mama out on this.
Someone tell me your toddler is or was so damn contrary you wanted to rip your ears off so you didn’t have to hear ‘No’ one more time. ‘No I’m not coming’, ‘No I don’t like, ‘No, I don’t want’. Here is an actual conversation from the other morning;
‘Mummy I want milk in a cup’.
‘ Ok poppet’.
*Sigh* ‘ Ok poppet’ proceeds to poor milk into a pink cup
‘No Mummy I don’t like this one. I like lellow one’ ‘ I not want’.
Language then proceeds to break down as the thought of having milk in the pink cup she asked for is all too much and she wants no milk and is extremely pissed of at the whole situation. Until 5 minutes later she demands milk again, from the pink cup.
This is really scratching the surface. Everyday we have the same old bollocks, refusing to get dressed, put shoes on, leave the house, get in the bath, out the bath, pyjamas on, into bed. Everything is a battle that requires unparalleled measures of patience and perseverance. Someone tell me this ends.
When she is not being contrary she is being, erm, sensitive, for want of a better word. I petter about my house daily on eggshells for fear of the almighty toddler wrath being unleashed, commonly, for reasons unknown. Sometimes the toddler tantrum is deserved, I get pissed when I am refused chocolate. I have learnt to take the blows on that one. Other triggers however, goodness knows what they are, they change from one day to a next. The slightest thing can change a smiley happy disposition into a wailing screaming messy. The corner of the blanket isn’t covering her baby as she desired? Bring on the scream. A tearless scream I might add. I sit down to play skittles with her but a skittle falls over before she had chance to knock it down. Fuck me sideways that’s a life sentence worth of punishment coming your way. Her brother looked at her, her granddad talked to her. You name it all these things, and more, many more, can send my darling daughter into a possessed rampage of screams, wails and planking. All of which will come to a prompt end if something remotely chocolatey materialises, or something fun or distracting.
Then there is this, the limpet cling on child. Now I love her dearly, and I am not complaining about this, not really, as I know my time will come where I will long for the days she is by my side for more than a quick kiss goodbye, or to find out what is for dinner. However at the moment the glue in which she sticks herself to me with seems to be extra sticky. She does not like to be parted from her dear old mum. She will not let anyone else wipe her nose, get her dressed, do anything for her really. I can be upstairs and she can be downstairs with nanny and granddad and it will won’t be long until I hear, ‘where is my mummy?’ and the tears start until she is reunited with yours truly. Usually being next to me isn’t enough, she has to be touching me, my face specifically, with her face. WTF? Like I said, I am not complaining, maybe I am about the face touching, however it does make doing anything rather tricky and god forbid I should leave the house without her.
On a final note, she is also the boss, note the reluctance to use the word bossy (here is why, a brilliant post by The Squirmy Poppy) but she tells me what to do all day long. Where to stand, where to sit, how to put the blanket on, to get her x y and z when I am still doing a b and c she just asked. Monkey sing monkey do and I am very much her monkey.
So kind readers, please tell me I am not alone in this. That I am not the only one who is dictated to by a temperamental toddler. Who’s mood swings put your most hormonal post partum, deliriously sleep deprived mama to shame? I’d love to hear from you.