I’m not so accustomed to the tantrums.
I know the differences in personality and development between one child and his or her sibling(s) can be as vast in difference as apples and marshmallows. Oliver, my first, wasn’t usually prone to tantrums. I found him fairly reasonable for a child his age, and didn’t usually have to endure a lot of sassy mouth or actions from him. I do remember the six months betwen the ages of 2.5 and three that I could have totally done without – he started pre-school at that time, and just worked mummy pretty hard… pushing the boundaries… it’s part of his job. I hated it, but I was prepared.
I feel as if the minute this second child turned two (which was about 4 weeks ago) her pointed little horns have come back to the surface with full-on purpose and avengence. She’s trying to kill me, I can tell.
Anything she can’t have… anytime I tell her “no”… anytime I look at her sideways… she falls to her knees, face all crumpled, arches her spine and throws her head back… WAAAAAAIIIIIIIL!!! Then she lies down completely and start stamping her little feet on the floor, rolling her head from side to side, hands over her eyes… the tears start rolling… of course, I can’t reason with her, so I step over her and leave the room.
WAAAAAAAIIIIIIIL!!!
I take very deep breaths and pretend that I’m not bothered in the slightest, when in reality, I. AM. SEETHING. Because? Because this is the fourth such tantrum in the space of about three hours, and NO you can’t have chocolate at 8:05 AM, but you can have some after lunch. And NO you can’t jump on the bunk-bed, ever. And NO you can’t play with mummy’s nail polish, but wouldn’t you like a little lip gloss instead?
WAAAAAAIIIIIIIL!!!
She’s not hungry. She’s had enough sleep. She’s got no symptoms of illness. She’s just being TWO, and man, oh man is she ever getting good at it. Holy fuck. Feels like Every. Little. Thing… And the trick is to stay as cheerful as possible, because it’s not really her fault that she’s two years old, and learning to manage her stress. I know this. Whistle while you work. Try not to eat the poisoned apple. And never shake the baby. (Somebody please pass the wine?)
The worst part is, she appears to be this way, largely with me, and me alone. Daddy doesn’t get nearly as much of this kind of behavior. At pre-school she seems to be quite a cute little peach. She saves it for me… because I’m the mum.
Because I’m the mum.
Because I’m the mum.
Fuck, I hate being the mum sometimes. It’s so freaking unfair this fucking unpaid, thankless, no-time-off-EVER cocksucking motherfucking job…
Today, I quit.
And I’ll tell you something else: if I could punch her in the face, I totally would. (No, I really wouldn’t… you know. But, FUCK YEAH I SOOOO FUCKING WOULD!!)
Fuckballs.
G.G.
NOTE: I can barely contain the love I have for this child… I’m just not liking her so very much at the moment. Meh.
