Harper, in an effort to make sure she's never ignored, has developed loads of fun new phobias. Some of these include terror of anything that might be floating in the bath water, like, say, lint that got washed out from between her toes, or maybe a hair from her head. Hysteria ensues when I open the drain for the bath; from what I can tell while she's screaming, I think she's afraid of being sucked down the drain. That might be part of her panic at the sound of a flushing toilet. If anyone's been in the bathroom at my Target recently, I swear I'm not mutilating a child in the stall, just preparing to flush the toilet. (Not, of course, that Harper's sitting on it. Using the potty was nice for that photo op a few months ago, but since then, she only does it if she wants an M&M.) The most problematic phobia she's embraced is an unbridled fear at a tumbleweed of dog hair floating around on the floor. In case you don't know, we have two 60 pound dogs, one Lab mix, and one Chow mix, so you do the math on the amount of dog hair that's shed. Also, I am a lousy housekeeper, so dog hair tumbleweeds in our house are more common than a homecooked meal. (Actually, I'm not a "lousy" housekeeper, so much as I "hate housekeeping"). Do you know how many times in the past week I've come running in a room at top speed because of Harper's bloodcurdling screams, only to find her freaking out over a little pile of dog hair? I mean, hysterical, screaming, jumping up and down, sobbing and pointing at dog hair. Which totally ruins the plans I had to train her and Aaron to pick them all up so maybe I (Jason) would never have to vacuum.
I can't figure out if I'm jaded, have really bad kids, or other people are just not being honest. I mean, my girlfriends are honest. Their kids suck a lot, too. The ones who don't have kids have probably already gotten lifetime birth control based on my stories. But good grief, how did I never know how unrelentingly hard this is? Before you judge (I mean, you can go ahead and judge, I don't care, but just hear me out before you do), it's not like I freak out the first time one of these things happens. The first time my kid sings "Take Me Out to the Ballgame", I'm overwhelmed with mushy-ness and think it's precious. I ask them to sing it a couple of times, and put them on the phone with Nonnie or Gramma Sharon and have them sing it. After about two or three thousand times, I'm kind of over it, and trying to wean them off. By the 3280384573094th rendition of "That Frigging Ballgame Song", I'm ready to stab myself in the eye with a spoon by the word "Take". So it's not so much the issues, it's the sheer volume and repetition of the issues. Even great sex would be annoying after a few months of 14 times a day. When you're starting with something that's much less fun than great sex, it takes virtually no time to wear out it's welcome. And when you're starting out with another little "quirk" to add to the already interminable list of quirks, it becomes really kind of a perpetual pain in the ass.
I should find a happy way to end this, but for the life of me I can't think of one. I'm too annoyed right now.
Um. So, everyone have a great weekend! Here's a picture of my little angels! Aren't they precious?
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5 comments:
It's that it's relentless. And you fool yourself into thinking "If I just got one night off a week or so, I could do this. It would be easier 'cause I'd get to recharge". But you're just lying to yourself, because it's NEVER easier. It's always difficult because it doesn't end.
I love my kid, too, but her recent decision to make EVERY potty break take about the same amount of time it took to create the entire universe makes me want to put her back into diapers and just deal with the psychiatrist later. And the fact that she stands three feet from my face and tells me what she needs at full, screeching volume, even when she's not mad...well, let's just say, I'm feeling you.
And every birthday I think "This year it will be easier. Everyone says four is easier than three!", and again, I'm wrong. 'Cause you just get used to how horrible things were the year before and then they add new and irritating behaviors to the pile.
I can understand having the first one, 'cause you don't know any better. But I have nobody to blame for the second one but myself. I knew better!
Ella went through a freak out stage that sounds eerily familiar to Harper (especially over stuff in the bath tub). We switched to "showers", which really just consist of her sitting in the tub while I spray water over her with the hand sprayer. One time she screamed bloody murder while playing in her closet (yes, I let her play in the closet) and I thought she was really hurt and went running in there to find out that she was hysterical over a teeny tiny mosquito. Luckily, the freak outs have slowed to a crawl. I can't really even remember the last time she did it, so I want to tell you it's just a phase and Harper will outgrow it. But I reserve the right to change my mind on that, so don't hold me to it if she doesn't follow suit.
Julian still freaks out over random things (like bugs, and frogs, and things you'd think little boys would like). And cries over the oddest things (like the fact that it's bedtime and we can't find the stapler so that he can staple his book of Mario Kart coloring pages together right.this.minute). And repeats the same joke eleventy billion times until I'm so tired of it I want to poke a stick in my ear (he hasn't yet learned to leave 'em laughing). The repetition is what wears us out, I think. Thankfully, our kids usually do enough cute stuff to save them from annhilation when we think we just can't take it anymore. :)
And hey, I hate housekeeping, too. :)
I'm just not honest about it. And I only have one kid (for another month or so)...I just feel like not talking about it makes it less real somehow.
I was given a link to your blog by a friend of mine with 2 girls under 3. I'm about to have a little girl, which will make 2 kids under 18 months (NOT something I did on purpose, believe me). To answer your question- I think most parents just aren't being honest. I love my son; I'm sure I'll love my daughter. But I hate being a mom. I miss sleep; I miss my life. We should write a book. ;-)
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