It's fairly obvious when you look at this picture of Crosby that there's sure to be a strong-will in that little body (and let's be honest--an incredible sense of humor). One that has strong opinions on fire men, winter boots, clothing, protective eye-wear, and just about everything in between--opinions that so often clash with mine, common sense, public decency, necessary social norms, and just general, "I'm not going to unleash a crazy person into the world," parenting.
And man---sometimes it leaves me feeling like the worst mom in the world. I don't keep my cool nearly as much as I'd like to and do the things I swore on a Holy Bible I'd never do as a parent. And it makes me want to curl into a fetal position and wish I could erase the last fifteen minutes and do it again the right way, the super nanny way, the love & logic way, the transformative parent way----really just any way except the "Are you sure you're stable enough to be a productive parent?" way. And I'm one of those moms that let's herself feel some mom guilt; makes us better if we don't let it consume us in my opinion--but that doesn't make it easy.
So today--I'm really just here to say......solidarity moms. We're all in this together. This afternoon wasn't necessarily a mom resume builder as we're currently butting heads over how many books to read before nap and bed-time, where to read these books, how to read them, what voice to read them in, how fast to turn the pages--or how slow, if we read them once or twice, if Crosby reads them or if I do, if they get to go into bed with us or not, what color I incorrectly say a balloon on a page is (it's ALWAYS ORANGE.....ALWAYS....and why I haven't learned that by now is beyond me), and whether or not Crosby sits next to me in the chair or on my lap--this one is a moving target. For the love---it's all a moving target. And the whole ship really just goes down when I get tired of the game and give a few warnings and then....you're just going in your bed. Oh.my.word.
Yeah, that. And then there's the part where I decide to act almost the same as my two year old.
So like I said. Revel with me in the days where you really just can't wait for the re-do to start tomorrow morning and know you're not alone. Not alone at all.
These kids man. These incredibly amazing, beautiful, hilarious, wouldn't trade them for the world, I'm going to start climbing the wall.....kids.
I love you Crosby. Cute pictures to follow because it erases the last 1/2 hour. And so does remembering the way you say thank-you to Jesus for fire trucks and tall ladders when you pray, how you roll your 'r's' when you say things like SOCCERRRRRRR ball, how you can make the perfect fire-truck siren noise, how you say 'awesome' and 'gross' as a two year old, how you make your Little People talk to each other, how you think it's so funny to steal peoples seats at the table, and how you give the tightest and best little two year old hugs around........
There is no little boy I'd rather have a battle of the wills with than this one. Not a single one. Sometimes I just wish it involved less shrieking at me and irrational chucking of stuff over the side of a crib.
A girl can dream.
Yes. A thousand times yes -- and you are right: not alone. My little will-warrior is an opinionated twenty-one-month old. Current battles (that weren't on your list, but probably sound familiar) include: which lullaby mommy may sing more than two lines of, nursing (we "weaned" five months ago), and who gets to buckle the stroller/car seat/high chair...(along with 90% of what you listed). Rejoicing with you over these beautiful hilarious children. And repenting with you daily. Thankful for new mercies every morning!ReplyDelete