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.

SOMEBODY WRITE ME AN ANTHEM THAT'S GOT A GOOD BEAT.



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