Yes, I was melancholy about the passing of Spring’s peak, mourning the fact that it flees so quickly.  Toddlerhood, on the other hand, seems to be lasting damn near forever.  I sat down tonight to sort through the past month’s sweet photos and funny videos to herald all of Juliette’s latest developments, but I’m just not in the mood to gush – I’m going to save that stuff for another day.  I’d much rather complain.

Because this kid is making me CRAZY.

We have had an exceptionally tough couple of days.  I walked in the door Monday evening after a long day at work and Juliette excitedly ran toward my open arms…and then right past them, as she grabbed the door handle and whined, “outside?  outside?  outside?”, ignoring my replies that we couldn’t go out because it was pouring.  I told her we could go upstairs and play in the shower rather than out in the rain, but she wasn’t havin’ it, wailing as I undressed her and then streaking down the hallway as I tried to pull her into the bathroom.  We struggled our way through bathing and pj’s and hair-combing and tooth-brushing; she was exhausted by the time I laid her down, but still she fought sleep with a vengeance, crying and shaking her crib rails before finally collapsing for the night.

She woke up early today, still out of sorts – she protested when I tried to unzip her from her sleep sack, but then yelled and tugged at it when I gave up and left it on.  Despite the previous evening’s aversion to the shower, she threw a fit when she couldn’t climb in with Shane this morning, so I abandoned my own attempts at getting ready and took her down to the kitchen to let Shane bathe in peace.  Juliette headed back up the (forbidden) stairs while I got her breakfast ready, looking me in the eyes and defiantly taking another step each time I told her to come down.  She refused yogurt and cereal and didn’t want to drink her milk unless it was out of a mug and unless she poured it herself (uh-uh).  She cried when Shane changed her diaper, whined as I wrestled her into her clothes, and ran circles around the kitchen island as we chased after her with her coat and shoes.  I politely asked her to come to me, then pleaded with her to listen, and eventually resorted to yelling, my voice getting louder and angrier with each lap.  Shane caught hold of her and tried to get her jacket on, but she collapsed on the floor in that masterful rigid-but-limp posture that makes it impossible to thread an arm through a sleeve or get a shoe on a foot.  Shane’s head was about to explode by this point.  He grabbed his bag and said he was going to take lightrail to work – he couldn’t be around her anymore and needed me to handle dropoff.  I turned to Juliette and nastily snapped, “Nice job, baby.  You made daddy mad.”  Shane heard my tone (exasperation verging on insanity) and decided I couldn’t be trusted alone with her, so we all headed out together, two of us in tears and one of us silently fuming.  There was slamming of car doors and dramatic swiping of car clutter off of the seats and running mascara.  It was ugly, folks.  We drove to daycare in silence, the air in that car so thick with frustration and shame that it was hard for me to breathe.  Even Juliette had grown quiet – I’m not sure if it was out of remorse or fear, but she hardly made a peep on that painfully long 12-minute commute.  I felt guilty and embarrassed over losing my temper.  But also mad and annoyed and full of despair.  It was only 7:45 am and I was spent.  She’s only nineteen months old and I’m done with toddlerhood.

I think this is the point where I usually wrap up a gripey blog post with, “Motherhood is hard, but it’s also the BEST JOB EVER!  She fell asleep in my arms and as I gazed at her sweet, peaceful little face, all was forgiven!”.  Not today, though.  The wounds are too fresh.  I’m going to let myself sit with the fact that this is exceedingly hard sometimes.  We’re in the midst of a deep, cranky funk and I’m zapped, plum out of patience and positivity.  The best I can muster is a faint hope that tomorrow will be better.  This too shall pass.  Right?  RIGHT?!

One Comment

  1. la v says:

    Oh man, the struggle is real! The limp/rigid body is one of my greatest pet peeves in life. Sounds like a LW getaway is in order, stat! Would a little schadenfreude make you feel any better? I could tell you about my morning…