Let’s just make it to FOUR.

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It’s 8:00pm and I am doing shots of sparkling water because I am so excited you are finally asleep before 11pm. The last few nights have been hell. If you nap, which happens intermittently and way later than usual, you do not go to bed till it is way too late, and by that time I become a raving wild lunatic of a mother. I don’t know what people mean by terrible twos, this THREE thing, is torture. I have been questioning all my parenting skills because you have suddenly become this insanely demanding and ungrateful 35 inch person who yells at me. Yes, YELLS AT ME. And makes me think you are possessed by a spoiled little brat of a person. However, after consulting with some other mommies at the birthday party today, I am so relieved to know that no, I did not fuck up royally in raising you, but that you are three, and three is as three does. And your three can make me scream and slam doors! It’s so weird. I sometimes find myself in the strangest arguments with you.It’s surreal. We argue over boobies and tutus. I’m a little embarrassed to admit this, but in my overcompensation for being in Alaska for 9 days without you, which I will post about that trip later, we somehow ended up breastfeeding again. Which is kind of ridiculous because there is no milk, but you assured me you enjoyed pretending that there was just as much, and I fell for it. That is, until last night. I thought maybe I was doing this uber selfless consoling thing by letting you suckle my dried up boobs like an addict at the pipe but late last night, when I finally got you into bed, we began to nurse and then you wouldn’t stop. I became frustrated and agitated. It was almost 10pm and I wanted to watch Treme on TV, by myself, with a cookie maybe! But no, you would not stop. I tried to get up and you kept grabbing at me and wailing like an abused child till I finally snapped. I lost it. I stood up and yelled, “NO MORE BOOBY! THAT IS IT! I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE! THIS IS MY BODY! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!!!??” and stormed out of your room after slamming your door, not once, but twice. I stood in the hallway and took some rapid deep breaths with tears streaming down my face knowing that my own inability to have firm boundaries with you had caused this anguish that we both were feeling. I could hear your father’s voice in my head, telling me I was too inconsistent with you, and that it would cause problems, especially if I let you breastfeed again after going through the whole weening thing 6 months ago. I was just grateful that he was out of town when this was happening, so I could suffer alone without the “I told you so” that would never be spoken but would hang in the air like a wet fart. You were screaming at me through the door. I felt horrible. I felt like the worst Mom in the whole wide world. After I had calmed down, I went back in and held you, rocking you in my arms, until you were finally sleepy enough to lay down and then I rubbed your back and sang you to sleep.

The next day I had no problem being firm but loving about the boobs, and you know what, you were totally chill about it. You understood and even though you kept trying, you stopped when I said no. I expected tantrums, but no, nothing. And I learned something, when I am not ambivalent about something, but I am FIRM but LOVING, it makes sense, to both of us, and we respond in kind. It’s not wishy washy. And like an animal can smell fear, you smell my ambivalence from a mile and away and you pounce on that shit. It’s so crazy. Raising a human being is so fucking crazy. I have no idea what I am doing, nor does anyone else really. Those fucking parenting books can kiss my ass. I don’t even want to be a perfect parent anymore. It is way too boring and stressful for me to do that. I just want to be the best parent I can be, which is totally flawed but madly in love with you, and that is that. Done. Three years old has beaten the preciousness of parenting out of me. I just want to make it to Four without losing my mind.

This too, shall pass…

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