Speaking with a favorite blogger of mine, Laura from Adventures in Babyknitting, we were discussing things that our children do that can only be classified as “annoying”. I wondered if I could say that. Was it terrible of me to say that my child got on my nerves? What kind of mother would say that she hated something that her son does?
The answer is…a normal one.
Do we love our children? Absolutely. Does the sun rise and set on them? You betcha. But once they hit an age where they can walk, talk, and develop tiny personalities of their own they stop being cute all day, every day. That is just a fact.
When they are twee babes, they coo and they cuddle. Sheer bliss. They may smell a bit like sour milk most of the time but they wiggle and giggle. Every moment is camera worthy adorable. Milestones are happening right before your very eyes and it is a reason to keep going even with your brain literally dizzy from staggering amounts of sleep deprivation that you did not know it was possible to even survive much less sustain.
But the day that once sweet baby throws themselves on the floor of the grocery store and begins to scream bloody murder so loudly that the clerks have to check and make sure that you are not trying to kidnap them…because you won’t buy them jelly beans? Super freakin’ annoying.
There, I said it. I said it and I am not taking it back.
My kid is unbelievably cute. My kid is hilariously funny. He can also be found acting like the most annoying thing that ever walked this earth. No lie. He uses tactics to get what he wants that would break down hardened criminals in the the interrogation room. “I did it! I did it! Just make that kid quit asking me for a peanut butter sandwich already!” Do I love his tiny face more than I love the air that I breathe? Certainly.
But that does not mean that I can lie and say there is never a moment that I silently wonder what he would fetch on the black market? Not so much.
There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for my son. I would lay down and die for him any day of the week. But more often, instead of taking bullets, I am throwing fruit snacks at him to bribe him into some clothing or subside a totally random tantrum involving me turning on the wrong television show that I was just specifically asked to put on. Here take these! Stop freaking out, already! I have no idea why you are screaming like that!
Parenting is fun. And those quiet moments that I can get him into my lap long enough to cuddle, when he says a new word, or when he is my little co-pilot at the store…I just want to smother him in kisses and let him live at home until he is 35 years old and I will clean his room and do his laundry until then like something out of that movie Failure to Launch. Then, when he scratches me because I won’t give him my Iphone…I think I am three years closer to 18.
I am too honest, perhaps, but we all know we think it. I am just dumb enough to say it.
Look at this face! Hard to believe he’s a terror…but don’t judge a book by it’s adorable cover!
I'm just living minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day.