It has been a stupid long time since my last post. I apologize. Thumper said it best, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothin’ at all.”
Of course I have nice things to say about my son, however, I only have time to write after he goes down for a nap or to bed. That means that I have been involved in an EPIC BATTLE for the last 30min-3hrs trying to get him to go-the-fuck-to-sleep. (Yes I’ve seen the hilarious book by the same name). This meme is seriously the most accurate way to describe it.
Bedtime gives me anxiety and a feeling of dread. I can feel my stomach tighten and heart rate increase just thinking about it. I am left feeling frustrated, tearful, tired, deflated, and like a failure of a parent. The very last thing I feel like doing after this battle is to write anything nice or even funny about parenting.
How is it possible to simultaneously feel like he’s ruining my life while he is my whole world? The other day we were jamming in my car and the song “One Call Away” came on.
“No matter where you go You know you’re not alone
I’m only one call away I’ll be there to save
the day Superman got nothing on me I’m only one call away”
Wyatt loves it because the song mentions Superman. We were belting it out in the car and I started tearing up and ended up playing it again and singing a heartfelt, tear-streamed version to Wyatt, none of which he appreciated by the way. Now I can’t even listen to the damn song without crying. I know the song wasn’t written for a mother and child but it totally works. So I started thinking about the fact that someday he will have a car, and go places on his own, I won’t be able to be there all the time, I will have to trust him, and way worse, trust the world. This all sounds impossible. We raise them to be independent, strong, brave and determined people. To be people that want to go out into the world and grab life by the horns. But thinking of your baby leaving, and being vulnerable to all that is out there, it is terrifying and heartbreaking. Just the other day a friend mentioned that her son, who would be starting kindergarten, would get to go on field trips with his class. My first thought was “How exciting, Wyatt will love that!” which was immediately followed by picturing him small and alone on a school bus, a million other kids with too few parents and teachers. Wyatt out in the world, being watched by someone else who is also trying to watch 5 other maniac 5 year olds. Nope. Not happening. He will have to deal with me chaperoning every single field trip, car ride with friends and first date for the rest of my life. And after.
I read this quote before I had Wyatt but never forgot it; it’s such a vivid and true description by Elizabeth Stone. “Making the decision to have a child – it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body. ”
Enough emotional crap, here are a few things Wyatt has said in the past two weeks:
He yelled at an innocent couple casually walking 10 paces behind us to “stop following me!!” “It’s RUINED!” followed by 15 minutes of “my life is over” wailing because his banana broke.
He’s asked to see my boobies to the point where it became awkward and we had to have the talk about private parts and that Mommy’s body is her body and we can touch our own bodies but not other peoples’. We have had this talk at least 4 times in the past week.
He’s said “hahahaha! Mamas eating wieners!!!!” when I asked if he would like a few of the nuts I was eating.
Wyatt is at a pretty fun age. He definitely has his own little personality now. He thinks he is hilarious, good at being sneaky and way cooler than his parents. Obviously only the first is true. The funny, shocking, confidence-shredding part of his big personality is that he completely lacks a filter. He very loudly called a tall, large man dressed in greenish sweats an ogre while pointing in case people were unsure whom he meant. I had to give him credit though; sorry, but if you are of that stature, bright Shrek-colored sweat suits are probably a bad choice. Truly, they are a bad choice for anyone of any stature. Along with no filter, Wyatt, and most toddlers for that matter, also have zero understanding of personal time or personal space.
My toddler has stuck his hand in between my legs into my pee stream.
He has asked me to sit next to him and instructed me to “go potty like a big kid” while he grunted and tried to poop on his potty.
He has seen my naked body and laughed and pointed.
He patted my vagina with his hand, laughed, and said “What’s that?!”
He has tried to pick my nose.
I’ve been kicked in the boobs, vagina, and neck more times than I can count.
He uses my pants as a giant, always-present napkin.
As soon as I get food onto my plate he desperately needs a bite, takes the best bite, slobbers on the rest, and then spits it out onto the other food on my plate. He looks disgusted by me and the food, then asks for another bite from another, less offending region of my plate.
He looks me in the eye and tells me “No! No singing mommy!” Then clamps his hand over my mouth when I try to sing him a song.
He yells demandingly when he’s ready to get out of bed but if I groggily hurry in without a shirt on he won’t let me touch him, just looks at me judgingly as he says “You need to put a shirt on”. Recently, he was staring at me while I got dressed then reached across the void and yanked on a few pubic hairs. I actually yelled “What the fuck?!” because, seriously, what the fuck?! I was a little in between waxes…like 4 months in between. That shit hurts. Admittedly not as much as a Brazilian, but I like that getting waxed intermittently leaves me feeling like a hip, well groomed 20 year old rather than a quickly aging, still in PJs, someone else’s snot on my shirt, 35 year old. For the 15 minutes it takes to walk to my car and drive to my parents’ to pick up my son, I imagine that I belong in a café reading Vogue… I’ve totally got my shit together and my shit is young, taut, and not at all painful or a little bit sticky with leftover wax.
There is a lot of wiener and boob talk at our house. Wyatt is constantly handling his junk, claiming that he is “looking for fuzz”, which is a total lie. ONE TIME, he had some fuzzy diaper thread wrapped around his wiener so I explained why I was all up in his business as I tried to unwind it. This was well over a year ago. Ever since, Wyatt has made it his mission to tediously examine his balls and wiener for “fuzz” every chance he gets. I honestly didn’t think the whole fascination would start this young. We have openly talked about wieners and boobs and vaginas, tried to speak about the matter-of-factly. The topics have to be addressed because if he at all senses that it may be a taboo subject, he’s totally going to blurt out embarrassing statements and questions about them at school or at a restaurant. At the same time, he is only three, and I can often hear myself over explaining things and think “I have gone too far, this is totally going to backfire”. I suppose I just need to be prepared for giggles and comments about wieners and farts for years to come and hope that when he is curious about body parts he asks us and not a teacher or stranger.
Arm farts and wiener grabbing aside, he is growing up so fast it is alarming. He is a little boy, coming into his own. A boy that can hit a ball off the tee left-handed better than I can right-handed. A boy that insists on doing EVERYTHING himself, which makes everything take a painfully long time. He insists on picking out his own clothes, whether it’s his pumpkin Halloween costume he wore when he was 6months old or big glittery butterfly wings with a Spiderman shirt and no pants. He loves playing in mud, dirt, puddles and storm drains but loses his mind if his boots are dirty before putting them on. He is incredibly bossy and makes sure to tell us how it is every chance he gets. He knows a ridiculous amount of words and talks nonstop. So yes, I’m tired and late and am barely functioning most of the time but that heart walking around outside my body is strong and growing and strutting it’s stuff!