I must preface this post with the fact that I feel poopie. And when I feel poopie I get whiny and complain a lot. This is no bright side or silver lining. There is pouty mouth with a bigger than average lower lip. There is the glass half empty pity-party and I’m the only attendee.
So the weekend was a whirlwind of pumpkins, hay bales, petting zoos, costume changes, outlandish temper tantrums, more costume changes, trick or treating in no costume with a bunch of other people in costumes, cleaning, nap-skipping, baking, cider (spiked with moonshine) and more pumpkins and pumpkin guts and pumpkin seeds and more temper tantrums because God Damn Two is an exciting time in a person’s life.
I promise to post more about all of that but right now I am in full-bore poopie mode and have a pity party to attend. After the pumpkin carving party and everyone left and we got that devil child I used to claim to bed, Juanito and I were not too far behind. But even after reading for a while, I could not sleep. I laid there with my mind fixated on the fact that I hurt all over and there was this awesome post nasal drip going on. I am so embarrassed to admit that I lost sleep over worry about being sick. Seriously.
So when I woke up (still under the blankets which is rare) I knew before I reached a hand out from under my warm cocoon that I was getting sick. This is the stage where I don’t feel 100% but there is nothing that warrants being home and not going to work. The pity party stems from the fear that this will turn into something worse and I have no control over when or to what degree it will happen.
When I finally made the decision to get out of bed I also decided that I would not let this impact me. I was fine. Ignore it, it will go away. If you were really sick you would be running a fever. All the great things my upbringing has taught me. I had to wake The Boy which is becoming a morning thing and his recent resistance to the mornings makes me fear his teenage years. But he eventually came to and decided he would watch cartoons and drink his morning juice.
But when I decided it was time to get dressed that is when the battle royale began. He wanted to wear his pajamas to daycare and I did not want him to wear his pajamas to daycare. The battle of wills commenced and when faced with a time crunch I start to lose my shit, quickly. My yelling and his yelling peaked at a cacophony of “no pajamas for daycare”, “I wan dees!” and “I just want you to wear pants!” When I was at my breaking point I walked away, which is all I know to do. He cried even harder. My heart breaks because I feel like a horrible mom who is abandoning him. I don’t know how to explain to him that I must walk away for me and its not because of him, even though it is. I’m just setting guidelines and rules that are totally normal, why can’t he see that? Damn it, I wanted to stay in bed too and I wanted to stay in my pajamas but damn it we can’t. Lower lip - commence droop and quiver. We have to get up and go, insert scowl. We have responsibilities that suck. This is the sound track of my pity party and its on repeat.
I said fuck it to the makeup and the other side of my hair. I just decided to pull it back in a ponytail and slap on a wee bit of mascara. Why try when my heart isn’t in it? I returned to the ball of crying boy in my living room and without fanfare of conversation forced him into his shorts and tee shirt. We cried the entire time. I feel like I raped him. I forced him to brush his hair and teeth. I was not rough. I did not yell. When I did speak it was a calm warm voice that was really more for me than him. When I offered to put his sweat shirt on his tears subsided and he willingly put on his jacket and grabbed his blanket to go.
When we got to daycare and I opened his door he gasped and cooed in the sweetest voice “Mommy!” I felt like an even bigger monster of an asshole. So my resolve at 5:45 am to not allow the poopies impact my day was totally eradicated by 7:05 am. I am still whiny and the post nasal drip has become a runny nose and I’m popping Halls Breezers like an addict to keep my throat from reminding me that I feel like shit.