I realize many of my parenting related posts involve me bitching about my child. I never wanted to be one of those parents. It is a distinct possibility that I had the Utopian idea that my child would poop rose petals and be the ever compliant toddler. Yes, I had delusions of grandeur. I know that. Deep down inside I knew there would be temper tantrums in the middle of the supermarket. I knew I would say “no” more times in one day than most childless people would say in an entire lifetime. But like many emotions I tried to push those ideas down and suppress them. That is until they come bubbling up to the surface as you see a full cup of milk come flying at your head. The less than glamorous parts of parenting rear their ugly heads as your child smacks you in the face, you put him in time-out and he gets off the naughty chair just to smack you in the face again because you told him he has now lost his fan privilege for the rest of the morning.
Parenting isn’t glamorous. It is a dirty job, but somehow we love to do it. For those who think all I do is bitch about my child you have it quite wrong. The bitching is the part I write about. I try to tell the truth about parenting. Sure there are the days we are walking through the grocery and the boy points out letters and numbers at random and actually recognizes them. You get that brief instant of, Hey! I actually taught him something. That blissful moment is usually interrupted by, “cookie, peez.” I’m sorry baby, you ate all the cookies. Followed quickly by screaming.
The bitching makes for interesting stories. Or at least makes for a learning point for the next person. At the very least it is a support network to know that you aren’t the only one who’s child throws a fit in the middle of church.
We do have more good days than bad. The boy is a very good child and quite funny. He likes to entertain himself, but would rather I play the same 4 puzzles with him all. day. long. He is so stinking cute when he sleeps that I could just sit there and watch him sleep all night. I love the fact that he loves music. I love his little high pitched voice. I love his inflection while telling me, “all done haircut!” I even love the fascination with fans or things that go round and round. I love that he now asks for help instead of perseverating on a problem he can’t solve. I love that some mornings he lays in his bed and makes shower sounds instead of rocking. I even love it when he cries because I am leaving to go to work. I love that he is making progress. It is slow progress, but it is progress nonetheless.
So while I may bitch here and there just know, underneath it all I love my son more than I can ever say. There aren’t enough words to express the love I have for this one little person.