If you have hit upon this post in the hope of answers to the above I fear you will be dreadfully disappointed. Unless my lovely readers can leave me some helpful comments. *Hopeful stare.* This is less of a post and more of a plea.
Someone must know what to do.
I kind of suspect Mr B and I may have brought this upon ourselves. You see we made the fateful mistake of being…
You know the ones. The ones with the child that SLEEPS. And EATS EVERYTHING you give him. And SMILES ALL THE TIME, at EVERYONE.
The ones you secretly hate.
We WERE those parents.
When your child was having a meltdown in the restaurant or a tantrum in the aisles we would smile, SMUGLY, to each other, silently congratulating ourselves on being such awesome parents with our perfect child. We didn’t need to say it aloud. One doesn’t need to brag. We were happy and SMUG in the knowledge that we were doing a great job and all was rosy.
You may have noticed the use of the past tense.
You will no doubt be delighted to know, and I do understand as I too want to slap our previous smug-selves around the head, that our perfect little world has recently exploded.
It would appear W may have hit what is commonly known as the ‘Terrible Twos’. And terrible is about right. Though TERROR-FILLED would describe my frequent state right now. His Granny likes to say he ‘gets the devil in him’. To me it would appear to be a whole host of devils and their entire entourage as well.
Bedtimes and mealtimes are an ongoing battle. Previously loved foods will no longer be touched. Toys are flung from his bed with enough force to give Russia’s top shot-putter a run for his money.
What should have been a two minute stroll back to our house took THIRTY FIVE minutes last week, with the boy at times spread-eagled across the very wet pavement refusing to get up, bawling and pounding his fists, and me steadfastly stood by him refusing to carry him home. (I did win eventually. But it took forever. Well, thirty-five minutes but it felt like forever with the entire street watching.)
Then occasionally, like today, my lovely boy returns and we laugh and play and he does everything I ask.
I cannot find the trigger. What makes good days good and bad days HORRIFIC?
What is happening?
Does anyone know?
I implore you my lovely readers, tell me what to do. I know many of you have survived your own childs early years and have lived to tell the tale. Please help.
Failing that, can someone pass the gin?