The hardest thing

It is hard to exercise every day (good lord, it's hard to excercise just once a week, for me, anyway).

It is hard to say no to french fries or most things containing chocolate.

It is hard to stay in touch with all of my family and friends, all of whom I miss very much and think of regularly.

It is hard to iron a shirt.

It is hard (for me) to keep a car clean and scratch (and let's face it, dent) free.

It is hard to make decisions like going back to work and who will take care of my baby if I do.

It is hard to find your keys in the dark.

It is hard when you are not on the same page as your spouse.

But the hardest thing, the hardest thing in the world is being a good parent.  Being a consistent parent.  I was going to write discipline is the hardest thing, but really it's consistency.  Getting your six month old to sleep through the night in his crib is not about discipline, it takes consistency.  You think parenting starts when your kids start misbehaving, but no, it's the moment they need you to step outside your comfort zone...which is pretty much on day one.  I have struggled with this (as many of you know).  But Finn, now 11 months old, does sleep all night in his crib...but that's not why I am writing. 

I am writing because I am bewildered.  My little boy, my Liam, my angel, my sweet little cherub of boyish goodness screamed at me today in a way that made me want to crawl inside my skin and hide.  I was speechless.  I felt helpless.  I wanted the Super Nanny to swoop in with her little DVD player, point to exactly what I did wrong and teach me how to fix it.  I wanted to hide from the stares from the other moms at the pool...the ones with their perfect kids (ha!).  I wanted him to just listen.

I am told it is "the age." I am skeptical.  Littleman has always been dramatic...dramatic may even be an understatement.  Lately, however, when he is being disciplined or told we are doing this instead of that, he sometimes has a complete meltdown.  Meltdowns that involve him staring up at me and screaming.  The worst, worst, WORST part of the screaming is that he is using MY words, MY tone, MY everything...only louder, faster, and with an edge of hysteria that can make your skin crawl (I kid you not).

Littleman did this to me at our community pool today.  He had pushed a younger friend of his underwater.  Not exactly in a malicious way, these two boys are known for rough-housing, but still, you just can't do that.  The consequence was he had to get out of the pool and watch every one else swim for the twenty or so minute duration of our time at the pool.  Naturally, he was very upset and when it finally dawned on him that I was not going to let him back in the pool, he freaked out.  He was making such a fuss (disturbing all the other people at the pool with his cries) I sent him to the men's room (ten feet from where we were sitting) to "scream it out."  To put it bluntly, it was a freaking nightmare.  He would open the men's room door and shout, "I don't want to be your son!" And other equally debasing, humiliating, hysterical things.

What do I do?  How do I deal with that? We were already leaving the pool.  He's lost his TV priviledges for the entire week.  We emptied his "good choices" jar, which was nearly full, so there will be no trip to Chuck E Cheese in his near future. (Which is a crying shame b/c it is really hot here right now.)

Ug.

I know I am not a bad parent.  And I know no one is perfect.  And I know we are all trying to do our very best by our children (which gets complicated when you and your spouse aren't exactly on the same page, at least not every day).  I want nothing more than Littleman's happiness and good health.  Oh, how that sounds so simple....if only it were.

So tomorrow is a new day.  A clean slate? Well...not exactly.  A chance for a better ending? Sure.  An opportunity for me to control the tone of my voice? Absolutely.  A diet coke? Undoubtedly.

 

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