Hello my sweetest psychotic little pea,
I wonder how you’re feeling this morning after our little Toddler Battle Royale?! Have you forgotten about your episode, like it never happened? Or are you stewing about it at pre-school, plotting my death? Either way you’re still stuck with me for the rest of the week until Daddy gets home. I don’t even know what to write to you today, but I feel like you need to hear the blunt and honest truth about your behavior as of late. You’re irrational, you’re dramatic, you’re loud, obnoxious and somehow still the absolute love of my life. There are moments when all I want is for you to be quiet and stop jumping all over me like I’m a damn bean bag chair. However, somehow in mommy’s irrational brain the minute you don’t want me to hold you or snuggle and you want to be with your Daddy or want to do things on your own I get so hurt. I know that that might be a little difficult to understand right now but maybe someday you’ll have your very own little psychopath and you’ll finally understand Mommy’s fluctuating internal rage. I’m going to give you a little “for instance” on my confusing stance as a mother:
Today is picture day at your preschool and I had this adorable little outfit picked out for you. I woke up early, got my coffee brewing, made your lunch and put in a special little treat; two milk chocolate Wilbur buds directly from the chocolate gods in Lititz, PA. I went upstairs and gently tried to wake you and I shit you not when you opened your eyes there was fire in your eyes and steam coming out of your ears. You immediately started screaming, “No! Get away from me! I don’t want to!!” You were so unbelievably loud I was worried that the slew of construction workers outside were going to call child protective services on me, but you lucked out.
I spoke softly to you and told you that today was a special day, it’s picture day at school! You were allowed to wear your special “party shoes” as you call them with an adorable little outfit personally styled by yours truly. You started convulsing and as soon as your head started spinning at a 360 degree angle I walked out of the room. I let you scream it out while I got dressed and I finished getting ready. When I went back to your room you had somewhat calmed down and wanted me to pick you up. I took that opportunity to at least get you out of bed and bring you downstairs.
Besides carrying down a 50 lb toddler I also had to carry down your clothes, toothbrush/toothpaste, and hanging by a small thread, my patience. We made it downstairs where I had poured you some chocolate milk. I sat you down on the couch and let you watch a few minutes of TV while I finished up gathering the things we needed for school and making sure the dog was taken care of. Once I asked you to head towards the powder room to get dressed and cleaned up you started saying “No!” Very assertively like you had a choice at this point. So, considering the time and losing the final thread that was holding my patience I had to drag you kicking and screaming into the bathroom. You were completely losing your shit and being just a pure bundle of joy. By the time you read this you’ll know that your Mommy uses sarcasm on a daily basis to ensure I’m calming releasing tension throughout the day and don’t end up in prison for murder.
Anyhow, I had to take your pajamas off, sit you on the potty, dress you, wash your hands, brush your teeth and comb your hair all while you were kicking, screaming, pushing, sobbing, and doing your very best to push me right over the edge. By this point I’m sweating profusely and all I want to do is get rid of you, I mean take you to school. I attempt to put on your cute shoes and you squirmed and complained and continue to sob the entire time. I felt like I was in a UFC fight with a squealing, greased up pig. It was a blast! I finally gave up on the cute shoes and put on your sneakers because they are easier to shove on. I had to hold you down quite literally just to strap you into your carseat because you were bucking like a bull. I finally get into the car and turn the music way up to drown out your horrifying screams. I take a few sips of my coffee while listening to my songs and the only thing that is holding me together is the fact that I get to be away from you for a few hours.
Halfway to school you finally stop crying and you ask to sit with me once we get to school. I tell you that we don’t have time due to your episode, we are running late. “Please Mommy, just for a little bit?” However, all I wanted to do is open the door and have you tuck and roll your little butt right into school, but that would be frowned upon by my other Mommy peers in the drop off line.
So, I’m sure you gathered by your current age and the fact that you can read that you made it to school alive. Also, we managed to still have a few moments before the teachers came and got you from the car so I let you sit up front with me. You said you were sorry for not listening and that you were going to be a good girl. I didn’t believe you, I knew better but I hugged you anyway. I whipped out my phone and told you to practice your smile for picture day and the picture above is what you did. Somehow, after a terrible morning of crying, not getting your way, being physically shoved into an outfit, and into a carseat you somehow managed to smile and act like all was well in the world. How the hell do you do that? I’ve been home for an hour and I’m still mentally and physically exhausted by the whole thing. Oy! Se la vie.
Well little girl, I’m sorry today’s letter isn’t all sunshine and rainbows and bullshit, but it’s the truth. You are an over active, intelligent, dramatic little psychopath and I love you anyway. That has to mean something. I hope that my Mommy rage and moments of pure chaos don’t scar you. Either way I’ll keep some therapist on speed dial for you.
Don’t be such a little shit tomorrow,