Motherhood Uncensored

Jaded.

"Do you think he's delayed or something?" my husband asked me after having to put Drew in time out for the third time in 30 minutes yesterday.

"Um, I think he's just a two-year-old boy on crack," I replied. "I'm not sure that warrants early intervention."

Nonetheless, Drew is quite a challenging child, particularly compared to Quinlan, and to say he was a shock to our parenting systems is an understatement.

Try taser gun to the testicles.

If we were able to take a step back from his constant motion, chattering mouth, and complete bull in china shop approach to life, we'd see a fairly typical and not that difficult two year old kid. But it just so happens that he has to follow our consummate rule following, easy to occupy and generally compliant oldest which makes him look like a little blonde rabid monkey.

And thanks to her, we've been jaded.

All the bad parenting habits we formed with Quinlan, like asking "Okay?" at the end of every directive or providing absolutely no warnings or transitions between activities are coming back to bite us in the ass.

And hard.

We find ourselves scrambling on an almost daily basis, trying desperately to not raise our voices and provide him with consistency and structure.

I'm not completely convinced that he's that much more difficult than the average 2-year-old (I've seen many a tot in my days as a teacher and therapist), but rather that we're already accustomed to dealing with angel child and therefore we look like we've never had a kid.

He breaks down instantly when not given his way or "the big one" - which is any whole piece of anything - God forbid you give him half a carrot.

He requires constant redirection and supervision, as to avoid peas up the nose, chocolate milk in his sister's eye, and what we're calling "The Christmas Miracle" - when he pulled down the entire Christmas tree while my husband was on the shitter and did not hurt himself or the baby who was sitting right next to it.

And we end up holding him down in time out naughty "zone" since we can't exactly figure out how to keep him in one actually spot.

Don't even get me started with the whole biting thing. Good god almighty.

So, the huz and I are working together to come up with a game plan. We remind each other to be patient and loving with him, even when we want to pick him up by his ankles and shake him.

And if that doesn't work, we plop ourselves in front of the television and watch Super Nanny. Because when we're feeling like complete and total failures, it's nice to know there are people out there that are waaaaaaaaaay way worse.

This is What Three Kids Looks Like on Halloween

The Mermaid, the Pirate, and the Ballerina

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Make sure to enter your Halloween photos into the Blurb and Parent Bloggers Network Halloween Photo Contest and Flickr Pool! Visit the PBN Blog for details.

Two Babies.

Since his sister started school in August, Drew has shared our alone time with a computer screen. Bedtime, after long days as a then pregnant and mostly single parent, was the only time where we were truly just mom and son, and even then I was pushing him towards the short board books and one-verse lullabies, just so I could dive into those precious few hours at night when the house was quiet and still, the only noise being the buzz of my laptop and the low drone of our television.

Even so, he still begs for me at bedtime, rushing for the "big books" and asking me to sing song after song as I hold him tightly wrapped in his favorite blanket, rocking in the pitch darkness of his room, the sound of his rain machine as my accompaniment.

I gladly pass the baby to my husband just so I can hold him for those ten long minutes, and perhaps earn back some of the time I spent what felt like seemingly wasting away his infancy and toddlerdom.

He's so big now, compared to his eight pound sister - running fast, throwing hard, and recklessly clamoring through the house like a loose cannon shot without aim, though still gentle in face and spirit. He speaks in pseudo sentences -- a few words strung together in a way that one can figure out the story he is trying to tell.

As of late, he desperately tries to find space on my lap which is otherwise occupied by a small baby. He searches for any morsel of thigh so he can plop his still diapered behind down and rest his head on me, poking and petting the baby in his own loving way. Most of time, it ends with kicks, head butts, and time outs, clearly his way of getting what little attention I can spare.

Yesterday, as I carried both him and his little sister up the stairs, his face warm from a low-grade fever and his head resting on my one available shoulder, he said "two babies."

It stung a little - these words from my sweet baby boy who's made veritable meals from the crumbs I've been able to spare him over this last year. And while I know our time together will come, when newborns aren't eating every two hours and spending the other hours nestled in a sling, it's hard not to feel a tinge of guilt.

Because when it comes down to it, he is still very much our baby.

If Only This Were How They Arrived

 

Tribond Anyone?