I feel like I can post this today, because today, everything is OK.
We’re getting along. There’s no screaming, only a little bit of arguing, and I am feeling positive.
I don’t like you mummy!
Ah, my favourite wake up call.
I want daddy! I don’t like YOU!
Its the same most mornings, all the way through breakfast. Screaming, whinging, crying. More screaming.
I’m hungry! I don’t want that! I don’t like my breakfast! I don’t like you!
Sometimes it is so ridiculous that I have to laugh. Other times…
I wish I could say that I could rise above it; that I don’t let the overtired petulant complaints of a two year old get to me, but it’s hard to listen to, over and over, every day, even if it’s coming from a small person who doesn’t mean it.
Fortunately, today is preschool day.
The relief I feel from dropping them off makes me feel slightly guilty.
The two and a half hours it gives me to shop, to answer emails, to think about maybe tidying but not doing it, and above to all relax and forget about the morning’s trials does me the world of good. It is with a renewed spring in my step I return to collect them.
I want to go out for lunch! Says the eldest as soon as she sees me.
I don’t say no, thinking that perhaps it might be a nice idea.
By the time we get home and I’ve listened to ten minutes of repeated screaming demands, and she’s a puddle of rage on the floor over absolutely nothing at all I’ve decided that it’s probably not going to happen.
This leads to a half hour full-on meltdown.
Of course I know they don’t mean it.
I know that their worlds start and end with me, as mine does with them.
But why oh why does it have to be so hard?
Why are small children like this?
Why are they so hell-bent on driving me to madness and tears?
I gave up my body, my career and disposable income, my precious sleep for this.
For being perpetually tired, for being shouted and whined at, for having to listen to constant bickering, for picking up mess and washing and cleaning…
I’ll be honest; today, right now, it doesn’t seem like a particularly fair trade.
Oh, yes, more often the good outweighs the bad… But on the days that it doesn’t, it’s hard.
The days are long and the years are short, so they say.
You’ll wish you were back here, when they’re older. Cherish every moment.
I hope I become one of those people who forgets about the screaming, the tantrums, the really hard days when no one was happy and everything felt like another thankless task.
I want to put my order in for my pair of rose-tinted glasses now, if I may.