|He's cute when he's cute|
I distinctly remember standing in the kitchen of our NYC apartment, I was 9 months pregnant, due in just a week with Connor and sobbing. I said to my husband, “it’s not fair to bring this baby into this house with that monster.” Jesse responded with a quip about how there is no turning back now, ha ha. Then I said, then we should find someone to adopt this new baby. I didn’t mean it obviously and only a couple of days later we welcomed Connor into our crazy family.
Like childbirth, I have blocked out most of the threes. It’s like I placed it in a neat package in my brain and burned it. I have no idea what happened at that time, nothing at all, nada. Well that’s not totally true, I have vague memories of fits in the street and him finally using the potty but it’s really blurry, almost like it happened to someone else….
So here we are again, only my little guy is an over achiever—he is starting early. Every day this week (every. single. day.) he has thrown a fit at drop off at school. Screaming—high-pitch, ears-bleeding, screeching—in my face, telling me to get away, then begging me to stay.
Today he laid down in the middle of the hallway so everyone had to walk over him. And you know, you start talking in that crazy Stepford Mommy voice, the calm sing songy one—come on sweetheart, let’s get up, listen to Mommy, I am going to count to 3, now, 1-2…. When really inside you are secretly screaming and dying of mommy-shame because you cannot control this little mad mad as you watch all of the other parents bring in their beautiful, well-behaved kids—none of whom have yogurt dripped down their shirt by the way.
I finally wrestled him into the outdoor play area, where he wails for me through the fence. I walked quickly away without turning back. Pulling on my sunglasses and keeping my head down so no one could see the tears. Not sure where the tears came from, was I frustrated, humiliated? I don’t know, but seeing him reach for me and call my name can be physically painful—my heart aches and my stomach flips. He makes me so crazy and yet, I love him like crazy.
As we enter the threes, I am going to approach it like a sergeant preparing for battle, because that’s exactly what it is. I will fight the good fight, through the potty training, the meltdowns and eternal stickiness until we reach that golden age of four when the clouds part and we see the sun once more.
And maybe, just maybe I will have Jesse pick him up from school today….