I apparently suck at blogging. Not enough time, too much to do, yadda yadda. Nod along if you get the drift.
Lately I have been crushed by fears that I'm not doing things right... not getting enough quality fun time with my child, or my partner, or myself, or really much of anything good.
I've always been what you'd call "driven." The A student who was in every club/show/musical group (though only one sport, since I am barely able to walk and talk simultaneously). The college leader. The friend people go to when they are in a mess and need the voice of reason.
So... why can't I get my child to understand that I am *NOT* able to zip (or unzip) her coat while she is strapped in her carseat in the back, and I am driving in the front seat? <sigh>
It could be that Monkey has finally succumbed to the pitfalls of being a "normal" two-year-old. But she's not really been "normal" so far. We got two full years of her always been so easygoing and easily soothed, that this new era of meltdowns and outbursts is a total sucker punch from like, the Tooth Fairy. You HEAR of it existing but you never directly see it.
Until, suddenly... you *do.* And she's on the floor flat-out LOSING HER DAMN MIND, and I'm just blown away by the WTF factor.
I know the choices I make as a mother are helping to teach Monkey that you can't, in fact, always get what you want. And, I KNOW these little battles are for the greater good of encouraging her to become a person who does not demand things from others. I know that she at least is hearing *some* of what I say...sometimes.
That does not make it any easier when she's purple-faced and screaming and one breath short of puking from snot and the crying and the anger she doesn't yet know how to handle. I fear I'm not handling it well, either.
Then she looks at me like I have all the answers in the world.
Oh, I wish that were true.