They say you should never go to bed angry.
I don't agree with "them", because I usually have it more together after giving whatever I'm mad about a night to simmer, but I do think someone should say "never blog angry". Because then you get posts like this.
Ok, ok, I've simmered down, but I'm still not happy and I'm about to get up on my toddler mom high horse, so watch out.
I think people (and by people, I mean all four of my friends) tend to fall into one of two camps.
1. Tough baby, easy toddler.
2. Easy baby, toddler from hell.
Guess which camp I've pitched my tent in?
2, baby. All the way.
I love my daughter, I love my daughter, I love my daughter.
I want you to remember this as I go on and you start thinking someone should call CPS. It's also my daily mantra when I find myself wanting to just leave her in the grocery store and run all the way home.
We met up with Kristy and Charlotte for lunch. Charlotte sat in her little highchair and ate her quesadilla and was just your normal, delightful toddler. A couple of fists in the guacamole, and dragging her doll through some salsa, but no big deal.
Olivia shrieked like a howler monkey, wriggled up and down and up and down from her booster seat (highchairs are just toddler rocket launchers in her opinion) and threw rice, ate absolutely nothing at all, and then shrieked some more.
She was pretty terrible, but not terrible enough to get up and leave a la last Saturday's milk throwing incident. Just terrible enough to try and turn it into a teachable moment and attempt some parenting consistency while everyone around you starts hating you.
Can I digress for a minute and just say how amazing it is how quickly you'll lower your standards for what's "terrible"? My child has to hurt someone (besides me) or cause a spill that needs more than 10 baby wipes to clean in order for me to classify an incident as "terrible".
Anyway, when we got up to leave, she really lost it. Feet stamping, high pitched scream, the whole nine yards minus a full body fling to the floor, which would come later, just outside the restaurant.
Then it happened.
This big table of ladies on a lunch break caught my eye. Why did they catch my eye? Because they were talking about me. Talking about my kid. Giving me the stinkiest stink eye you've ever seen and rolling their eyes at one another.
You think I can't hear you?
I'm a mom.
I can hear a roll of toilet paper hitting open water from a mile away, of course I can hear you talking smack.
You're thinking I shouldn't bring my kid to a crowded restaurant if she can't behave. You're thinking I should have left about 4 screams ago. You're thinking that your kid never did that or if you're childless (which I'm guessing you are) that you'll never let your child behave that way.
Well I think you suck.
You suck for talking about/eye rolling at me and for getting to eat your whole lunch uninterrupted.
Not you guys, you guys all rock.
I made it to the car after Olivia almost dislocated her own shoulder about 7 times by pulling the "I'm going to go all limp" move, and then I cried hot angry tears.
I was so pissed.
Pissed at my kid for being so rotten yet again, at those women for judging me, and at myself for caring what they think. Pissed that everyone else's toddler (and trust me, rational Megan knows this isn't true) seems to be easier than mine.
Pissed that my mom sends me links to books called "Parenting the Spirited Child" (and I'm not really pissed at you, mom, I love you) because everyone and their brother knows what a flipping handful Olivia is.
Kid, I love you, but there are times I've wanted to flush myself down an airplane lavatory just to get away from you. Then I usually come pick you up when you're asleep and cuddle you because I miss you. Did I mention that I think "motherhood"is just a synonym for bipolar?
There are lots of types of parenting. Helicopter, Attachment, Permissive, etc. I fall into the Survivalist category. My friend Jenny likes to say that parenting is all about survival. And that's why she's my friend.
She's not going to roll her eyes or gossip about me while my kid melts down. She won't judge when I let Olivia have a giant chocolate covered rice krispie treat on a stick because I have to get this Target errand done (because her MDO teacher just told me yesterday she needs to have 12 Valentine's for tomorrow). I mean, we all have our standards, but "spirited" children like O will drive me to do things I'm not always super proud of. So I need friends who will send me photos of their vomit covered duvets (thanks, Steph!) to make me feel better about what their kids are putting them through or tell me it's ok that I turned up my Beyonce loud enough to cover the screams that have been persisting for an hour because the sock is on the wrong foot.
Now I know this isn't the first rant I've gone on about tough toddler moments, or "omg parenting is so hard guyssss", but this had to get written today, if for no one but myself. So there it is. Those judgy women at lunch wrote this post for you today.
So thank those sanctimonious, pearl clutching meanies for today's rant.
Tomorrow we'll be back to our regularly (yet to be) scheduled programing. You know, selfies, starbucks, Target, and all the important things. My sanity will also be back, along with the concession that I've got it super easy, and that I should probably calm myself when it comes to the whining.
And that's why you should never blog mad.