There are things about being a parent that you are forewarned about, but they don't really sink in until you experience it yourself. My most current example of this is the tendency of toddlers to assert their independence. Paxton and I have a battle of wills for most of his waking hours. It's 2:30 p.m. and I can define this day by how many times Pax and I have gone head-to-head. Because I had to have our cat, Soma, to the vet in San Marcos by 8:00 a.m., Paxton got to get out of his crib at exactly the moment he woke up. That's a rarity. I'm not proud to admit that most mornings I shut off the baby monitor and catch another hour of sleep while Paxton entertains himself in his crib.
Because we had to leave quickly, I packed snacks and water for Paxton and threw him in the car still in his pajamas. He was great about it. He was still in his morning sleepy-mode, so he just enjoyed watching the surroundings and chatting. When we got to the vet clinic, he started getting irritated because I was trying to focus on what the doctor was telling me about Soma and ignoring him. Paxton was walking across the row of chairs while the vet tech tried to lure him to sit down. Then he got upset and started pulling on my shirt and demanding to nurse--"NIN! NIN! NIN!". Argh. I could barely hear the vet over Pax's screaming.
After that debaucle, we drove back to Wimberley with Paxton unceasingly demanding "More? More? More?", meaning that he wanted whatever cookies I might be stashing in the front seat, and he wanted them immediately and without pause. I steadily handed him animal crackers, even though I knew better. He's become Cookie Monster. He snubs all other foods, hoping that by turning his nose up to healthy food, he'll be offered a Lorna Done. I inadvertantly created a monster. A Cookie Monster.
We got home, and I laid him down for a nap. I went into my own room to read and ended up falling asleep for my own nap. When I woke up an hour later, he was already awake. Hopefully he actually slept for a while. He's pretty consistent with his morning nap. I got him from his crib and brought him downstairs for lunch. After eating three bites of Tex-Mex Macaroni and Cheese, he decided that he wanted no more of it, and he swatted at the fork as it approached his mouth. I got out some applesauce. He ate one bite of that, because he shunned it. I put some Goldfish Snack Crackers on his tray, and he ate about five of those before he started throwing them on the floor, prefacing each toss with a bold "Uh-Oh!". In the high chair, he decided that he wanted to nurse again, shouting "NIN! NIN-NIN! NIN!". Sigh.
Because he was hyper and bored, I took Paxton to the community pool. Unfortunately, we were the only two people there, so there were no other kids for him to focus on. Instead, he tiptoed around the very edge of the pool, twice slipping in. When I would hold him in my arms in the water, he'd push away from me, trying to swim on his own. Clearly at 17-months-old, he can't exactly tread water on his own. If he sees a raft coming toward us, he says "No!" and pushes it away. He's not sure what he wants, but he's pretty sure that I can't give it to him. So much for fun in the sun.
Right now he's upstairs throwing all of his possessions out of his crib and complaining that I'm attempting to make him take a nap. Chris wants us to meet him in San Marcos in an hour or so to look at dishwashers and have dinner, but I don't know if I could handle being in a public restaurant with my wound-up son tonight. We tried that on Friday, making a quick stop at Jason's Deli before going home to put Paxton to bed. I ended up with my face and hair covered with chocolate pudding and a restaurant full of judging eyes staring daggers at the bad parents of the worse toddler.
I understand psychologically what the "Terrible Twos" are all about. Besides being unable to fully communicate his desires to us, he is also trying to assert his independence for the first time. I get that. It's a necessary step in child development and I'd be concerned if Paxton wasn't going through this stage. But it is exhausting. I count the minutes until 7 p.m. arrives so I can have just a short break before I turn in for the night myself. Being a mom of a toddler is far more difficult than being up all night feeding a newborn every two hours. At least back then I was able to read while he ate. Now he grabs the magazine out of my hand and comments on every picture he sees. Two days ago he called Tori Spelling a horse and whinnied. As I was reading about the ship captain who sacrificed himself to pirates for his crew, Paxton couldn't stop talking about the "law-lo" (water) and boats. I love interacting with him and hearing his observations, but any hours he is awake have to be dedicated to complete focus on him. I could use a little more recharge time.
The blessing is that I know every mother in America feels this way sometimes. I'm not alone in my complaints. I'm probably overdue for a mommy get-together. There's nothing like an hour spent letting the kids run themselves ragged while we vent our woes to one another. I thank God constantly for my mommy friends. They're such a gift to me, and to Paxton. Well, it's been thirty minutes and he is still not asleep, so I suppose I should stop talking about it and actually tend to my motherly duties. Three hours until he goes to bed. Aaaaahhhhhhhh.
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