I write this in desperation, amidst screams and cries and a dead-tired toddler who refuses to sleep. She’s been at it for two hours now, refusing to go to her bed, insisting on playing but ending up crashing into things only because she is that exhausted. I have had to close all apertures because I’m sure the neighbours are not that pleased with her screams and my hard-to-suppress yells. I hate myself for shouting at her but she knows which buttons to press and does not let go one instant. So I get angry at her and pinch myself instead of touching her although in the middle of her awful tantrums, I understand and empathize with mummies who succumb to light smacking. We are all but human after all.
Last night was a repetition of this afternoon. Perhaps a couple of nights away from her bed is the reason for this, but she’s never done it before. Her room is a mess because she’s stubbornly thrown everything on the floor. But I don’t dare go in there now to tidy up because for now I can hear nothing except silence. Maybe, perhaps, she’s down for her nap.
Which leaves a shattered me having to tidy up the rest of the place.
Parenthood is not easy. Parenthood is no piece of cake. It may be the most rewarding task and challenge out there, but that does not make it any less harder. In the early days it’s all about getting acquainted with a new person who’s totally dependant on you and with whom you have to play a game of ‘Perhaps This, Perhaps That’. It’s all about trial and error when they’re babies. When they’re toddlers it’s all about biting your tongue, counting to ten and holding your calm. It’s about trying to understand an unreasonable monster who pushes you to the very limit and then comes over to you and asks you for a hug. I swear toddlers lead to drunken mothers. It’s not yet 3pm and I could do with a glass of wine.
I used to think men were complicated and tough to understand. Think again.