Questionable Choices in Parenting

Laughing at life as a parent so they don't commit me

Terrible Twos are No Big Deal and Other Lies I Tell Myself

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We are just a few weeks into the “terrible twos” and let me tell you, friends, one of us isn’t going to make it to three. If I were you, I’d put my money on the little one.

Terrible Twos

I used to think the term “terrible two” was a gross exaggeration. Simply put, this was a  term created by someone who liked alliteration and innocently wanted a funny phrase for the little ups and downs of their child’s second year of life. Come on, I already had a two year old, and we sailed through that year pretty much unscathed. Sure there were some rough patches, but all in all, two was a good year with my boy.

But those of us who mock, roll our eyes, and refuse to heed the warnings of other mothers will get a swift kick in the uterus from Mommy Karma, a testy and unforgiving biotch.

Some of the confusion may have been in the name “terrible twos.” Let me offer some more descriptive and effective terms for this stage of life. How about “Dear-God-why-is-she-screaming-again-I-think-the-windows-are-going-to-burst two. Or “Don’t-make-eye-contact-just-give-her-whatever-the-hell-she-wants-and-run two.”  No? How about “If-my-husband-thinks-I-am-having-another-baby-anytime-soon-he-is-as-crazy-as-this-child-that –has-thrown-herself-on-the-floor-and-is-losing-her-shizz-right-now two”.

Every morning I hear the same little voice calling for me from her crib, “Mommy, where are you?” But I never know who I am going to get when I pop my head into her room. Sweet Mimi, sleepy Mimi, silly Mimi, grumpy Mimi, shepard for the devil Mimi.  Even if you get one Mimi out of bed, there is no telling who she will be when you get downstairs. When her dad says good morning to her, any of the following can happen:

  1. She leaps into his arms and sings a song of job to entertain her dad
  2. She bursts into tears and yells that no one is allowed to look at her
  3. She screams for chocolate milk and throws the cup at you if it isn’t pink, doesn’t have enough chocolate, or if you looked at her when warned not to do so
  4. She quietly sits on the couch and watches TV
  5. All of the above in a five-minute span

I’m exhausted and the magic light that is the age of three is so far away. I’m assuming that when she wakes up on her third birthday (in 345 days) she will be normal again, right? RIGHT?

You never know when and where she will unleash the terrible. A few days ago while at the beach, Monkey was catching a few waves with his boogie board. Mimi marched down to the water and morphed into an out of control screaming banshee. She was in full on major meltdown and I tried everything in my mommy bag of tricks—snacks, drinks, toys, a million dollars—just please stop screaming. I tried to give her another boogie board– she didn’t want it. I traded with Monkey and tried to give her his board–she didn’t want it. Turns out, she didn’t want to “boogie”; she was mad that her brother was having fun, and she, apparently being a part of the fun police, needed to put a stop to his fun.

The calm before the storm
The calm before the storm

Is there a terrible two rehab facility? Somewhere where Dr. Drew sits down with two year olds and talks them through these trying times. Now that would make an interesting reality show. Maybe this is a two part therapy and the mommies attend some sort of spa to relieve our tension or receive a lobotomy, whichever is needed most. If this sort of place doesn’t exist, I am creating one today.

Who’s coming with me?

Never Say Never

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My BFF having her first baby is really going to work in my favor. First, Chief and I have been through some crazy stuff (all incriminating photos have been disposed), but nothing bonds you with your bestie like being in the trenches of motherhood together. Second, in a few months I will have a sweet, snuggly newborn to squeeze, love, and get my baby fix so I can slow down this dang biological clock. Third, I am super excited to be skinnier than her and for her ass to be bigger than mine, even if it is only for a few fleeting months. Since Chief told me she was preggers, it made me think a lot about my first pregnancy and all of my big, silly ideas

1.21 Giggawats

If I could get all Marty McFly and find 1.21 gigawatts, I would tell a newly pregnant me to lay off the freaking ranch dressing. Do you know how many postpartum miles I had to run to get rid of the damage caused by your pregnancy-ranch-induced cravings? But more importantly, I would take the imaginary list of things I was never going to do once I was a parent, tear it up, and throw it in the air like confetti. That list was something like this:

  1. My kids will NEVER eat anything but organic or all natural food
  2. My kids will NEVER eat fast food
  3. My kids will NEVER throw temper tantrums
  4. My kids will NEVER take a pacifier

I really do try to feed the kids as much organic and natural food (I know, I’m freaking Mother Earth) as possible; however, sometimes it isn’t economical for a family of four to eat everything organic. So to fix that, I ban Hubby from eating the kids’ natural and organic foods. He is forced to eat the crap with hormones, antibiotics, and the unpronounceable ingredients antibioticstore.online. Don’t start feeling sorry for him. He’s tough, he will survive.

The ban of the fast food was pretty easy at first with Monkey, but I am ashamed to say that Mimi could be found chewing on a McDonald’s nugget way earlier than her brother.  Our house is littered with half broken Happy Meal toys as further evidence on my failure to follow my self-imposed fast food ban.

Temper tantrums, sigh. I could count the number of throw down, screaming and crying, red-faced, snotty temper tantrums Monkey has had in his life on one hand. I can count the number that Mimi has had before noon on one hand. Much like her mother, she has a flair for the dramatics and chooses to express her anger, frustration, or annoyance with a fit that would shake even the most seasoned of mothers.

Now the pacifier, the pacifier is a whole different story.Mini Mimi Monkey had zero interest in all things pacifiers. Easy! I sort of blame Mimi’s paci addiction on me. Her first year of life, I was her paci pusher. With the littlest whimper or moan, I was handing her a paci.

Come on, honey. This will take the edge off

Try it. You’ll like it. I swear. Would I lie to you?

Everyone is doing it.

And just like that, another paci addict was born. Sometimes she gets so upset she actually double fists pacifiers. Those are really bad days and it is best to stay out of her way.

After her first birthday, we only let her have her paci in bed and on long car rides. But the power of Mimi prevailed with some epic tantrums that had me throwing pacifiers at her by the handful.

Once she was on to our evil plan to banish her paci, she started stashing them around the house. Some places were obvious: in her doll house, shoved in the couch. But some were stealthy hidden: in her shoes, in her shopping cart of play food. Hubby witnessed her pull a paci out of the dog food bin and start sucking away like a nicotine fiend that needed their fix.

Most of the time we get pictures like this:

 Grumpy Swan

I call this one “Grumpy Swan.”

Her antics have even been caught on tape. This video of Sneaky Pete shows her trying to get a little paci time when she thinks my head is turned. Watch this little charmer try to giggle her way out of being caught red-handed.

The day will come when the pacifier has to go, but it sure as heck is not today because silence is golden and silence with Mimi is rare.

So my dearest Chief, enjoy being pregnant, be reasonable with the ranch dressing, and go easy on yourself with the things you will NEVER do as a parent. Oh, and the photos may be destroyed, but there are still videos, so you are stuck with me forever!