It will never get old: That warm fuzzy feeling when Charlotte is snuggly and sweet, then seconds later turns into the whiniest whiner I’ve ever whined.
Right now we’re going through a little phase (by ‘phase’ I mean seemingly endless hellish hellfire fire in my soul screaming frustrating shit fucker fuck fuck) I’m just beginning to understand and accept that I am not good with the terrible 3’s. Just because I accept this doesn’t make it better, by the way.
On a typical morning, we step outside the door, Behr and backpacks in the stroller, 3 girls by my side, one girl (ahem Charlotte) complaining that she’s tired as soon as her feet hit the pavement. ‘My leg, my knee, my vagina’ it’s always something that’s bothering her. No amount of patience and compassion satisfies her, and strangely screaming back at her and threatening her doesn’t satisfy her either.
I go back and forth, between accepting that I need to still push her in the stroller (combined with Behr and the weight of the stroller itself, that’s easily 80 lbs) and digging my heels in, insisting she walk and build up her muscles.
She doesn’t care that I pinched a nerve in my neck a couple weeks ago from pushing all the weight several times a day. She gives not one shit. She still wants to be pushed, and not in the violent way that I WANT to push her.
I realize I’m an asshole. There are so many things in my life that are wonderful and amazing and that I am grateful for – to the point where I feel like I don’t deserve such blessings. It’s scary how quickly that vanishes when my kids start whining. It’s like they’re shaking the etch-a-sketch that is my soul and I have to start all over again.
This parenting shit is deep. Sorry for all the swearwords.