A child is a curly, dimpled, lunatic. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Today was a hard day. At this current moment, I stay home with my daughter two days per week (and I work the other three days). I cherish my time with her always, and typically we have a good time together. Of course there are always challenges, but the ebb and flow is usually quite manageable. But the last 4 months or so, things have been getting much more interesting (aka, tantrum central). This morning began with a fight to brush teeth, a fight to change a diaper, a fight to get dressed, and then a fight to eat breakfast. And that was just the beginning. I was so hopeful for a good day, as yesterday's report from the grandparents was that Hazel was very pleasant all day. She ate well, she took a 3 hour-nap, and was overall in a happy mood. No reported difficulty or wild tantrum-like behavior.
She apparently saves all of her Mr. Hyde-ness for me and our days at home together. Which is my preference, but still. Phew.
The day before yesterday, Easter Sunday, began with perhaps one of the biggest tantrums to date (of course, on a day when we have somewhere to be - church - with the whole family). And sometimes it's the smallest things that trigger the tantrum. Like cutting a bagel to the appropriate size for a two-year old to eat. "BACK ON!!! BACK ON!!!!" She screamed. (Which means, put the bagel parts back together. Seal it back up with imaginary glue so I can hold the giant bagel and drop it on the floor several times). From that point on, it just went downhill. The screaming, the crying, the refusing to eat anything else. Then the refusing to let us change her diaper. Refusing to get dressed for church. And so on. We try to distract her with other things and then do what needs to be done. Sometimes this works. Sometimes it doesn't, and things evolve into a full-on tantrum and then us physically forcing her to change her diaper/get dressed/brush teeth, what have you. It's not pretty.
Fighting and forcing are not words that previously existed in my vocabulary before parenthood. At all. I do not love doing it. (This is an understatement). It is exhausting. Both physically and emotionally.
Most of today involved fighting and forcing. But then, there were these moments of loveliness smooshed in between the struggle. Dr. Jekyll came back and made a few appearances. We went out to lunch, and when we walked in the door Hazel said "Hi!" very sweetly to the hostesses. They beamed at her, and Hazel followed enthusiastically to our table. She even ordered her own meal. The server came over and Hazel said confidentially and seriously, "Grilled cheese, please." It was hilarious and adorable. So grown up. 2 going on 12.
And then after lunch, she proceeded to run wildly through a busy parking lot, refusing to hold my hand. And when I told her, sternly, that she needed to hold my hand or I would carry her, she just wriggled away and ran off. I swooped her up and carried her to the car, screaming. A tantrum ensued, and I had to physically lay on top of her to get her into her car seat and buckled up. It took quite some time, and is no easy task for a lady who is 7 months pregnant (this is another understatement). I kept looking around, wondering if someone might be trying to call Child Protective Services. I was prepared to defend myself. "I promise she is my child! I'm not hurting her! She is a toddler!" That should explain it.
2 going on 12, going on 2.
We get home, and things don't get much better. Nap time: fight. Dinnertime: fight. And according to the book on discipline that I am currently reading, it is important for parents to not get emotional. To stay neutral and firm. So I do that. But I tell you, not reacting to an emotional child emotionally, is HARD. I completely understand now why moms or dads who stay home with young children are so eager for happy hour to arrive. "Is it five o'clock yet??? How about four?!?" Because their nerves are frayed completely and need a little something to relax. Even on a good day, I love a glass of wine. I unfortunately (currently) cannot partake in happy hour as a coping tool on these hard days. Or for a while to come, because I plan on breastfeeding this baby, too. Maybe I should rethink that, with a 2 year-old to take care of at the same time... nah. I jest. But life without wine these days can be brutal.
There is no happy ending to this post, or way to tie up the message with a pretty bow. Sometimes, parenting young kids is just hard. The day ended with forcing a screaming child into bed. And then crying in my hot shower. I know this is a temporary phase, and things will get better. I know all parents must go through it. I know every child is different, each child's temperament is different, and each age group is different. And these challenging behaviors are developmentally normal. (Terrible twos, anyone?) And I'm trying not to feel like a failure as a mom because we had a rough day. Discipline is tough for me, and sometimes being consistent is the hardest thing to do when I'm worn down on all sides. But I know it's what we have to do; what we have to strive for. We sometimes have to fight and force and do the difficult dance. Pick our battles? Absolutely. Assessing and negotiating what we must be firm on and what we can let slide, is a demanding, constant facet of parenting. And some days, I am better at it than others.
It's just the way it goes. And I still have so much to learn. So much. For now, I'm doing my best.
All things considered, knowing that we are not alone in the universal world of parenting, makes days like these a bit easier to swallow.
So here's to all the moms and dads, crying in the shower, doing the dance, and fighting to raise the best tiny humans that you can.
I'm with you.
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