This last couple weeks have been a real doozy for me when it comes to parenting. As in, I have #momfailed more than normal. Right when I think I can’t get any more mediocre as a parent, something like this happens.
I have heard that three is worse than two. That is when your child turns into a “threenager” and really learns how to mouth off and perfect the art of tantrum throwing. But I also heard that two was the hardest year. And before that, having a newborn was the hardest. Then, the parents with pre-teens and teenagers were always there saying, “Just wait, it gets much worse.”
So, let’s just put it out there and say every year as a parent is the hardest.
But I do admit, the last month or so have been trying. Henry has officially entered his “threenager” phase.
At first, it was cute. Okay, cute is an understatement. It was freaking adorable.
His vocabulary was really expanding and he was repeating things that he had heard Logan and I say. You know, the good things, like “Thank you!” and “Bless you!” The ones that melt your parent heart and you wonder how you got so lucky to give birth to this tiny angel.
He also learned the word disgusting and professor and they were hilarious to hear him use in everyday conversation. He was finally getting it!
My baby was officially the smartest child in the world and he was going to get a full ride to Harvard one day so Logan and I could live out our dream of retiring on a lake somewhere.
Then one day, it all began. He started grinding his teeth. But not the normal grinding of the teeth, an extremely annoying, incredibly loud grinding of the teeth. The kind that makes your head hurt just hearing it.
It was just the two of us in the car. I turned around – when I got to a stoplight – and asked him to please stop grinding his teeth because he was going to hurt them. He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Stop grinding your teeth, you are hurting them.” Then he laughed hysterically.
Holy shit! Did my three year old just MOCK ME? I looked at him and said, “Don’t you mock me, Henry Michael!”
It’s like I saw the little toddler devil on his shoulder doing a dance as he looked me in the eye and said, “Don’t you mock me, Henry Michael!”
This is when I asked sweet baby Jesus to take the wheel because I was going to flat out lose my shit. I honestly had no idea what to do. So I just ignored it.
But my mind was reeling. I knew this was the beginning of the end. My life would never be the same. My sweet child had crossed into uncharted territory. I was seriously pissed.
The next few weeks went by and his general demeanor got a little more spunky and mischievous each day. It’s like I could tell he was testing me. It started with refusing to eat a meal, then moved to doing what I tell him not to do while he knew I was watching.
And his tantrums have been more dramatic than ever. Tell the kid that he can’t have ice cream for breakfast and you would think I just ripped his favorite stuffed animal into pieces. His tears come faster, his face gets redder, and his scream has gotten even more ear piercing.
I have tried many ways to get him to stop acting like a crazy child. Of course, I tried talking to him first. The “Mommy and Daddy need you to be nice and listen,” talk. Of course that didn’t work.
I tried time out. It worked once or twice but now when I ask if he wants to go to time out he will just look at me and say yes. #MomFail
Then I tried bribery. Don’t judge, I was running out of ideas.
Lastly, I started smacking his fat little leg. The first time he straight up looked at me in shock. Then he just got up and walked away. #UberMomFail
That’s it. Sadly, that is where this story is ending. I have no solution to the “threenager” phase. This blog is called Hashtag Mom Fail for a very valid reason. I have zero idea what I am doing as a parent. Is this some sort of cruel experiment?
With Baby Simon making his appearance in approximately two weeks, I am curious how I am going to survive. I am stockpiling wine for my maternity leave if anyone would like to donate to my supply.
Until Next Time,
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