Motherhood Uncensored

My Daughter is Kicking My Ass

I'm barely smarter than an almost three-year-old let alone a 5th grader. My daughter has become a force to be reckoned with. Send her in to do peace negotiations, Mr. President, because she'll have everyone nodding in agreement for candy on the potty, dessert with no dinner, and Backyardigans all day long.

I should have known that something was up when she slept until 9am for the last few days. She'd wake up chattering non-stop, catching me fully off guard and duping me into allowing her to sample my lip gloss as mirror paint.

"But look at my beauuuuuutiful decorations mommy" she said, complete with a hand and arm flourish.

This is what happens with your smart child nears three and you have a baby that takes up a ton of your time and attention.

The lovely little girl we used to be able to leave alone to play with her dollhouse has now been found cutting Slut-barbie's hair and giving little passing kicks to the pain in the ass cats as they walk by (I can't really fault her on those). She can talk her way out of anything we ask her to do, she often totally ignores us when we talk to her, and her negotiation skills are unmatched.

When told that she could not bring home a toy from K-mart because she already had enough toys, she responded "You can give my toys back to the other children and then I can bring this one home." Then when told that she could buy the toy with her own money if she behaved herself she replied "I don't want to use my money, mommy. I want to use your money."

The woman behind me even commented "Oh. She's good."

Her cuteness is now accessorized with red horns and a pointy tail.

Our situation is not ideal -- my desire to be the one keeping order and maintaining some type of schedule has gone to the wayside thanks to a baby who prefers the sling and bouncy ball for his naps. Her non-stop and often repetitive chatter, mainly to make sure I've heard about her desire to wear every single shirt in my closet to her "beautimous ball" can be dizzying at times. My tone moves way more quickly to firm and stern than I ever thought. And I've been on the verge of losing my temper with her, grabbing her a bit sharply from her dinner seat to take her to time out.

I'm torn between her utter cuteness and hilarious commentary, and her often blatant testing of my parental authority. I find myself laughing and crying at the same time. And I feel terribly guilty for not being able to remain as consistent and loving as I know that I'm supposed to be.

It's not pretty.

I was the good parent. I am the good parent. I am A good parent, damnit.

And she's a good kid.

But what is good anyway? I mean, I've decided that the "good" label has done nothing but make it harder to adjust to how she is now -- which certainly isn't bad, but compared to how she was before, it's not so good either. I realize that I've already created a picture of who my daughter is in my head, when really, she's still a painting in progress, creating her own masterpiece that is her own beautiful self by experiencing the world in all her newly wild ways. Her journey for her own goodness has only just begun. And I'm here to guide her, mentor her, and let her paint.

So it is good. It is healthy. And it will pass.

But will someone please come over and tell me that after she has just dumped over the dog food bowl, arranged all my MIL's 147 knick knacks in a row across the living room floor, and peed on the flowers outside because "they needed to be watered from my bum-bum."

Thanks in advance.

Compared to Three, Two is a Walk in the Park

I won't even discuss with you the new found reverence I have for moms of two-plus children. Let's just say all your sweatsuits, bad hair, and lateness make sense.

I totally get it.

But combine that with a blooming three year old with a wild imagination and a penchant for getting into every single thing (most of which no person let alone three year old should really ever get into) and you've got yourself a big old basket of hell.

It's not like I didn't hear it from every single person with a kid. I swear. Strangers will randomly come up to you.

"Oh. Two is nothing. Wait until they hit three!"

And then you roll your eyes and think they're ridiculous and you go back to trying to figure out how to make your semi-verbal toddler stay in time out because "like omg they are totally driving me nuts."

HAHAHAHA. HA. Haha.

But then your toddler nears three. THREE. It's like they are posessed with a combination of creativity and naughtiness that equals huge messes. Gigantic messes of crap everywhere.

And they try to rationalize every single thing - bedtime, mealtime, cleanup time. Holy cripes. It's really quite uncanny.

"I'm not good at cleaning up mommy. I'm too slow."

"I'm dirty mommy. I can't clean up."

Seriously, it's really quite unbelievable that stuff that she comes up with and on some days, I actually believe her. I'm being mind-trapped by a three-year-old.

Oh and PS -- don't ever leave her alone ever again for longer than 2 seconds because not only will she take bites out of your butter but she will totally unroll the toilet paper, shred her book pages into "birthday cards mommy just for you!," and empty out an entire container of buttons all over your bed.

I vascillate between giggling at her and being incredibly frustrated. I'm happy that she's imaginative -- I just wish her imaginary friend was just a bit neater and didn't decide to use the entire roll of toilet paper as "her beach towel."

So, to all you people who warned me about three. YOU WIN.

Anything else you care to share?

You Know You're a Hipster Parent When...

...your daughter refers to the birthmark on her ankle as her tattoo.

But then, as she flips through a birthday party supply magazine (read: toddler crack) and says "Oh, I like The Bratz," you realize that maybe you're not as hipster as you thought.

Of course, this realization occurs after you pull yourself off the ground from the heap of confusion and utter shock that was caused by your near 3-year-old daughter actually knowing who The Bratz are let alone claiming to "like them."

Seriously, I'd rather her go back to eating butter.

Clearly She Does Not Have a Dairy Allergy

If that's not toddlerdom at its finest, I'm not sure what is.

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And as promised, the most fantabulous blogging event round up, Bossy style. Plus the following posts coming up this week:

- A birthday! With pink eye!

- A husband leaving again for 6 weeks of training!

- A Mother's Day Contest and Meme of Grand Proportions!

Stay tuned. I must now go itch my eyeball.