Or Toddler, Thy Name is Drama. I don't really know. The point is: I am five minutes away from FedExing my child to China.
Noah has been, no lie and no exaggeration, throwing one solid tantrum since early yesterday, with only the occasional breathing break.
THINGS THAT HAVE MADE NOAH FALL TO THE FLOOR AND WEEP BIG FAT TEARS INCONSOLABLY IN THE PAST 24 HOURS:
1) Asking for more Cheerios, being reminded of the gigantic pile of Cheerios directly in front of him.
2) Asking for more milk, being reminded of the very full cup of milk directly in front of him.
3) Climbing out the back of a chair and getting stuck because he refuses to take the sippy cup out of his mouth.
4) The 30 seconds it takes to microwave his dinner.
5) Asking for a cookie, getting said cookie, discovering that he actually really wanted some cake.
6) Blue's Clues, because Steve is wasting precious seconds looking for a clue that is RIGHT FUCKING THERE IN FRONT OF HIM ZOMG.
7) His new Thomas the Tank Engine jammies, because they need to be ON HIS BODY instead of carried around like a blankie.
8) Deliberately hitting his head against the floor while tantrumming; suddenly realizing that deliberately hitting your head against the floor actually kind of hurts.
9) THE DOG IS LOOKING AT ME MAKE THE DOG STOP LOOKING AT ME AAAAHHHHHHHHHHH
10) Touching the oven, getting caught touching the oven, STOP LOOKING AT ME TOUCHING THE OVEN AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
11) Asking to fingerpaint, HELP HELP THERE'S PAINT ON MY FINGERS AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH
12) The stroller, the carseat, being carried, walking on his own feet, not being allowed to roll around on the floor in Target.
13) Putting sidewalk chalk in mouth against all advice and reason, suddenly discovering that sidewalk chalk tastes like ass.
14) Being asked any sort of question whatsoever, including, in all seriousness, Noah, do you want some candy?
15) The three seconds of Little Bear opening credits our Tivo records at the end of Blue's Clues episodes, because even though he has never sat through an episode of Little Bear ever so we don't TiVo them, we should totally know that those three seconds of opening credits are the GREATEST THING EVER and he now wants to watch Little Bear more than ANYTHING IN THE WORLD and WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CANNOT MAKE LITTLE BEAR MATERIALIZE RIGHT THIS SECOND I WILL DESTROOOOOOOY YOOOOOOOOOOOOU.
Shall I go on or do you have the general idea?
My god, I don't know who this kid is and what his problem(ssssss) is(arrrre). I thought maybe a short nap was to blame so I put him to bed early last night, only to have him wake up screaming this morning because...I don't know. Something about the Thomas jammies again, like because the shirt was on his body he couldn't LOOK at it, but then when I took it off he screamed AND KICKED ME IN THE STOMACH.
(I should also point out that in the past few days, I have become the Only Acceptable Parent, which is breaking Jason's heart and bugging the crap out of me, since he seems to demand my constant presence for the sole purpose of abusing it.)
I am...worn out. I have never, ever witnessed anything like this from him and have "If That OT Could See Me Now" (as sung by Kathie Lee Gifford) stuck in my head. Is he sick? Teething? Growth-spurting? Opening wormholes into some sort of evil Doppelgangerland from Planet Toddler?
I spent Friday afternoon in the maternity ward, holding someone else's mewling little newborn. That was very Suck, especially since after this past week several people I know have now successfully conceived, gestated and birthed children in less time than we've been trying for a second.
A very boring insurance kerfluffle sidetracked our plan to see the doctor last month and I have yet to pick up the phone and reschedule. Because apparently I have the same sort of "smash your own fool head against the floor and then complain about it" impulses as Noah.
This entry probably reads downright bizarre to a lot of you. Or like, all of you. Seriously? She's whining about not being pregnant two paragraphs after going on and on about her current child's hellacious never-ending tantrum of nerve-shattering asshole-ness? And did she just maybe call the current child whom she is goddamned lucky to have in the first place an asshole right there?
Yes. And yes. Irrational Little Snowflake, thy name is Blogger. Or maybe, Unconditional Love, thy name is Mother.
Yes. Hopefully it's that one.