one of 127 minutes. |
Do you want your hot dog cut?
Yes.
Are you certain you want it cut?
Yes.
You’re sure you want it cut into small pieces rather than whole like Barrett’s?
Yes.
Okay. I will cut half of it into little pieces. That is what you want?
Yes.
If I cut it, you are going to eat the small pieces?
Yes. I wantidcud.
*one cut into hot dog*
NOOOOOOO! NO! NONONONO! {Head thrashing back and forth. Hands swatting. Steam coming out of ears. Nostrils flaring.} NO! I dooooon’t wantidcud! I dooooon’t! Don’t you cud thad hoddooog! I don’tlikeid! I doooon’t! You have murdered my lunch! This hot dog is ruined! You’ve ruined my life! Get the hot dog out of my sight! I never want to see a hot dog again! You’re the reason I am going to need counseling! All because you cut my hot dog! You are the worst human I’ve ever met!
…
Hooeydoggy. We are two months shy of having a three year old in our house. And it’s basically awesome. Awesome about 127 minutes of the day. When he’s sweet as pie. Endearing. Darn near angelic. And then the remaining minutes of the day {I don’t do math}, it is clear that, in his opinion, I pretty much manage to ruin his entire existence by being his parent. And though he didn’t really say I murdered his lunch. Or that I ruined his life. And some of the other stuff. He might as well have. Because that’s what his irrational screaming, crying, body thrashing, biting, hitting, et al. really translate to.
Here are a few of the ways we have completely obliterated his world today:
1. Offering to change his overnight diaper.
2. Asking what he wants for breakfast.
3. Asking him to wash his hands before breakfast.
4. Not giving him the right plate for breakfast.
5. Refusing him any additional sausage, after he’d downed 3 links, until he ate his fruit and pancakes. Which he, of course, requested, and immediately did not want.
6. Asking him if he wanted to wear underwear or a diaper.
7. Offering to read him a book.
8. Reading him a book and then, three pages in, he realized it was not the book he wanted. Even though he’d just picked it out.
9. Singing the Wheels on the Bus to him.
10. Singing ABC Soul instead of the original ABCs to him.
11. Putting him in his car seat.
12. Asking him to not wipe his runny nose on his arm.
13. Telling him I love him.
14. Asking him to get down from the second step.
15. Watching him fall from the second step.
16. Telling him we don’t poop in our pants.
17. Asking him to take off the poopy pants.
18. Telling him not to touch the poop that has dropped out of the pants.
19. Giving him water instead of milk at lunch.
20. Turning off the water in the bathroom when he was done washing his hands.
21. Trying to give him a hug.
22. Asking him not to sneeze in the baby’s face.
23. Telling him “in a minute”.
…
And that was pre-nap.
I’ve survived one, and clearly blocked out that period of my life. And still have another to go. But this toddler may break me.
I’ve heard that age three can be worse for some than two. Please, for the love of turkey jerky, do not let this be the case. I am out of ideas on how to reason with this little homeboy. In a week, I may walk out, and apply to work at HyVee Gas. Because it’s the closest business in walking distance. I feel like Barrett can hold the fort down.
I may need a wig ’cause I’m to the point of pulling my hair out. But I keep reminding myself this is just a necessary evil. To get him to a point where he can manage his emotions a little better. And these fits and tantrums will pass soon enough, right? I mean, most days are far better now that he can speak. And he is able to be appropriate in front of most people now. So that’s growth, right? And I like to look at the bright side in that at least I still have the ability to screw with his world. That must mean he doesn’t completely think I am the devil. He must have a tiny bit of love in his heart with my name on it. Small victories. I’ll take it. And hope for 128 minutes tomorrow.