A Public (Dis)Service Announcement

It’s funny. This morning I stood in the shower praying that I never had to get out. It wasn’t because I was using a new lotion or potion that made it feel like a relaxing spa experience. It wasn’t because the warm water felt good on my aching shoulders. It was because I was avoiding the almost 3-year-old on the other side of the locked bathroom door…

Under the stream of water I found myself closing my eyes, envisioning that I was under a tropical waterfall. I covered my ears to block out the “Mama... Mama! Maaaaaaaaammmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!” being belted out of a set of overused toddler lungs (accompanied by two little fists rhythmically pounding on the door). Hands over my ears, eyes closed, I chanted in a monotone voice, “I am not here. I am not here. I am far, far away…” But it didn’t work. My shower was cut short by something more shocking to the system than someone flushing the toilet while bathing. He was now proclaiming from another room, “Whoaaaaa! BIG scissors!” Holy. Shit.

I was warned that age 3 would be worse than the so-called “Terrible Twos”. The anticipation and mental preparation for this stage though wasn’t nearly enough. Perhaps it is because of Caiden’s increasing independence and curiosity. Perhaps it is because he is vying for more attention now that he is no longer an only child. Most likely, it’s a combination of both. At times, I can’t help but wonder though if it is because I have failed in some areas of raising him. It’s in these moments of stress, anxiety, and frustration when I realize that I have done my readers a disfavor within these blog entries. Therefore, I now present to you the following “Public Disservice Announcement”.

IT IS NOT ALWAYS A HALLMARK MOMENT HERE. Being a mom doesn’t always foster some warm & fuzzy revelation for me. It is not always fun & games in this house. Quite frankly, most days include some portion in which I question whether or not it was a good idea of becoming a stay-at-home mom. Amongst the cuteness and playtime, laughter and learning, there are also ample opportunities for disobedience, bad behavior, and outright rebellion that make me want to run away. Today alone has included Caiden feeding the dog doughnuts, helping himself to items in the refrigerator and then hiding them around the house, dumping four 24-piece puzzles in my room, leaking a cup of milk onto my freshly changed sheets, pulling a chair over to the “junk drawer” and removing a large pair of kitchen shears (hence, “Whoaaaaa! BIG scissors!”), and “playfully” biting me on the right buttock. Yes. You read that correctly. And it’s only 1 o’clock.

It’s not like I am inattentive or a pushover. I’ve developed a sense of hearing similar to that of a bat and grown a proverbial extra set of eyes on the back of my head. Our home is “child-proofed”, but this future engineer has figured out how to override any system put into place. (One time, he actually showed my own mother how to operate the childproof door handle to get down into the basement.) All it takes is a few minutes in which my back is turned to take a coveted 90-second shower, change Ryan’s diaper, pee with the door closed, or be rendered immobile by a nursing session, and Caid is off and running with some less-than-desirable agenda. Yesterday, I swear, I wondered if he would be in “time out” until he was 30. (I also considered renting him out to local schools to be demonstrated as a new form of birth control.)

The “best” part about all of this is that he saves this behavior just for us at home. Ask anyone else who knows our family or has taken care of him and they would simply gasp in disbelief at his naughty impulses! I know deep down that this is because home is where he feels the safest and he tests these waters because he know that my threats to “call the gypsies” are empty, but there are some days (such as today) when I can’t help but question if I am doing the right things with him. He’s my first child, therefore he is my “practice child”, right? But I am a perfectionist to the core. And when he “fails”, I feel that I have failed, too. I think that this is something that all mothers do. We know that our kids are supposed to screw up. But we put so much pressure on ourselves to make sure that they are the very best that they can be that tend to beat ourselves up when a shortcoming or poor choice emerges.

I write this entry today, not to seek reassurance from others. In reality, I know that I do not have to sport a T-shirt reading, “World’s Suckiest Mom”. I also know who the members of my reading audience are and so I know that they have all had days like today, too. I write this entry today because I need to reassure the public, myself included, that we all don’t have to be Hallmark-Mamas 24/7. Believe me, these anecdotes about my life don’t always end with a prophetic vision. You don’t always find a deeper meaning of life while wiping another human’s bottom. It’s hard to find a moment of Zen when you are literally catching someone else’s puke in your bare hands. Your kid, may also indeed, rip you from the comfort of your hot shower with a “Whoaaaaa! BIG scissors!” and then proceed to bite you on your ass. But we are all entitled to having a bad freakin’ day. And, really, it’s ok. It’s parenthood.

[Ironically, as I type this, Caiden is now laying on his belly next to me, “reading” the screen as each letter pops up. Oh. And now the random listing of the letters has turned into a repetitive singing of the “Alphabet Song”-- like a cute, yet annoying, broken record. It breaks my concentration, but makes me laugh at the same time. And, as luck would have it, he just sat up and wrapped his little arm around me and randomly said, “I sorry, Mama”. Maybe I am not doing too badly after all.]