Wednesday, July 03, 2013

It's just a phase

FOUR is a new kind of terrible.  Histrionics, assurances, confidence, and distain: in adult+ size proportions.  I was cocky about mothering a baby, and a one, a two, and a three year old.  I really thought I was good.  WORLD'S BEST MOM, I thought.  Like an asshole.  Because I didn't make it very far.  4, turns out, really sucks.

The other day this particular 4yo I know was constipated.  Here is an actual quote in which she says to me: "I'm ASSUMING you think this is a big deal... Trust me on this, I'm never gonna have to poop.  I'll be fine mom, I'm fine.  Trust me on this.  I DON'T need to poop."

"Trust me mom!   I'll be fine if I never poop.  I'm assuming you don't know that, but I'll be fine!"

TRUST and ASSUME, her newest concepts.  

Of course, I bent her in half like an angry steel rod, forcing her concave to sit on the MUTHRFECKG TOILT.  Battle of wills ENSUES.  OF COURSE, I lose.  My face is scratched.  She's pinched off.  Tears, recriminations, denouncements... fists even, follow.  SLAM.

"Whew, she says, (I hear her through the bedroom door) "glad that's over!"

Being evil as fuck -- as I am -- I waited...  and an hour after she fell into the deepest redemptive sleep-state possible I puppet-walked her into the bathroom where she defenselessly passed a medieval mace of a turd-head with only a somnolent whimpering resistance.  TAKE THAT!

Meanwhile, I'm still searching Pandora for a hip-hop mama song.



someone said...

Haley got her father, my husband, a medieval mace for his birthday. I told him no matter what, if you ever decide to get therapy, don't tell them that.

No lyrics. Coffee? Heroin?

someone said...

Hey, how's florida? The pictures are wonderful.

Roy said...

I can't believe I'm four months behind on my blog reading. I just wanted to say, and here I assume the situation of July 3 has passed, so to speak, that I feel your pain. But perhaps there is a God, because your daughter and my son are actually of different generations, and therefore will probably never meet and marry and have offspring, thus stabilizing, cementing, if you will, S-46, the "stubborn gene" into the human genome for all time which would forevermore put a new slant on the concept of motherhood, and even fatherhood.

I could tell you stories. Just hang on. All I can say.

It might help to blog. Just saying.

asha said...

I've read and reread this post over the eight... count them....EIGHT....8....MUTHRFECKG MONTHS since it was posted and have laugh/cried every time! And why? Yes. Because it is delightful but, more importantly, because there has been nothing new since then. What can we do to ring, teaser, badger, beg, cajole, demand, petition, pry, prod, plead squeeeeeeeeeeeze a new one out of you?


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