We are not on speaking terms at the moment. The small human and I. Partly, because he doesn’t say anything besides the occasional ma-ma, da-da, onomatopoeia, and cuppppp. Not the greatest conversationalist, that one.
But mainly because he has been a real dick lately. And he has never, not even once, asked me about my day or complimented any of my recent hat purchases (and sometimes a girl just really needs to hear that she looks delightful in that shade of camel, regardless of her skin tone or misplaced fashion sense).
The thing is, this morning he punched me. Right in the face. On my good side — the one that isn’t currently creased with sleep lines. It has no chance of making it into a selfie now.
He’s mean. And rude. And laughed after he hit me. Chuckled. Giggled, really. There may have been a snort. And this might sound a bit silly, but I am pretty sure he winked and put the whole thing on YouTube. I haven’t the heart to look it up. Just a gut instinct. And a flair for the dramatic.
And I know the vet mamas out there are rolling their eyes, partly because I called my son a dick (gasp!) and also because this doesn’t sound like anything new or exciting to them. But it’s all together heartbreaking and blurry for me — blurry because of the constant tears his taunting brings. Yes, he is even making fun of my mama. The hurt is real.
Tantrums. I have heard they exist. I have even witnessed a few in the pastel aisles at Target. But I have never been so directly involved with them until now. And he’s only 15 months old. I KNOW it is going to get worse. I get about five e-mails a day that constantly remind me. Life tip: Stop signing up for every single baby app and website — just get on facebook for parental abuse.
By nature, I am a sweet, gentle soul. Some might consider me weak, but I swear, it’s completely intentional. It’s also a side effect of all that constant smiling and desperate need for people to like me. I wouldn’t dare raise my voice to a stranger — not in this dress.
In other words, this kid will be running all over me in no time. Unless, UNLESS, I can get away with bribing him for the next twenty years or so. But honestly, who has that kind of money or insurance.
So, I came up with a plan for these special day-ruining spectacles — I plan on throwing them right back at him. I tried it out today. When his tantrum started, I sat on the ground next to him, clenched my fists, banged on the ground, and wailed. It was a pretty fantastic performance; truly worthy of everyone’s praise and adoration. Unfortunately, he accepted my challenge and one upped my tantrum with a ballad of screeches and his own made up obscenities. I bowed out of the battle. Graciously.
I am going to need a new plan. A smarter plan. One that involves less chocolate and Frozen on repeat; one with an escape option should things get messy.
Until then, I am asking for your help, sweet mamas and papas out there. How have you dealt with or are currently dealing with those gorgeously crafted tantrums of the temper? Because I would like to not be so sucky at this parenting thing. I would also like to stand up to the little dude I created — maybe become pals, like the kind that go out for lunch and both insist on paying for the other’s meal. But let’s be honest, he totally owes me, like lots and lots of money, so he should probably just pay for all my meals and toys from now on. Just to be fair.
I feel so much lighter for getting that off my chest.