A few days ago, McKay said to me,
"Don't you think Jax has already gone through his terrible-twos? I don't think he will go through terrible twos."
And then this week happened.
And now it's Friday. And i'm sitting on our couch exhausted, letting Jax watch nursery rhymes on On Demand, and it's only 11:06. Oh and I fed him a granola bar and a banana for breakfast.
I am. just. done.
For this week.
All moms have weeks like this right? The weeks where you say "no" more than any other word. The weeks where you finish dinner and seriously leave your husband in the kitchen with your child, saying "feed him," as you run upstairs to sit on the couch alone. The weeks where when your baby pulls a plate of brownies off the counter, you actually just let him sit there and eat it, because it means he will stay in one place. The weeks when you give your kid a haircut, and he won't sit still, so you literally just grab chunks and cut it, hoping that it will be even...without the patience to just wait till later...because sentimentality at that point is gone and you are finally ready to chop that mullet off.
And the weeks where you say lots and lots of curse words in your mind. And one out loud.
Calm down mom, he didn't hear it.
And those weeks where you tried. You really did. Like during a trip to the grocery store, accompanied by screaming and crying, you calmly took your baby to the art aisle and got him some paints. And when he was still screaming, you understandably opened the thing of toilet paper and box of fruit roll-ups sitting in your cart to wipe his nose and fill his belly.
And then at home, you let him play with his paints, and took lots of photos, and smiled and admired his first little watercolor. After which, he crumpled it and threw it on the kitchen floor.
Or the weeks where you actually have to stop writing your blog post because your child just went #2 in his diaper and literally pulled it off right in front of you while you were typing. So you take a break to stick him in the bath, and scrub everything off of his bum and legs with your bare hands. Which doesn't even phase you. Because it is not the first time you have had to do that this week.
(this actually just happened.)
And here is the brownie incident.
And here's the haircut.
And during those weeks you feel guilty and tired. And in short, calm moments at the end of the day you hold your baby and say Sorry buddy, mommy will be nicer tomorrow. I promise I will. And you tuck him in to bed and he kisses you sweetly and you feel terrible.
But then the next day is a ruthless repeat of the one before and you aren't nicer.
So Jax, if you're reading this when you're 18 and you are saying to yourself, this is proof that my mom has always been crazy, just remember: First that I love you. Second, that I am trying to be more patient. Third, that I wouldn't change one thing about you. ever. And fourth, you are our entire world and you always will be. Even when that world is filled with smooshed bananas, watercolor paint, brownie crumbs, snot, swipes of frosting on our chairs and on my camera bag, chewed-up-spit-out food, and poop.
P.S. Hi McKay! I'm going shopping today!