We’re going through a “I’m not listening to you even though I could listen to you” stage. It’s playing a bit of a head game on Mommy (more on that later) and I believe little two year old daughter knows damn well she’s doing it.
Leaving the babysitter’s the other day I wasn’t that pleased with my little angel. Report for the day was she didn’t listen so well and didn’t stay quiet during quiet time. I need Davis to be quiet and stay with the other, “big” kids for quiet time instead of going upstairs to a room because when she goes to the room she naps for longer than she needs and I can’t get her to bed before 10p.m. Then she doesn’t want to get up in the morning. Both of these situations cause me unbelievable stress and take up way too much time. Since I have resolved to relieve stress it’s time for her to be like the big girls. Needless to say, it was Monday and I wasn’t too happy.
In the car I started trying to do my mother thing and tell her I’m disappointed and discuss why she needs to listen. She decided she’s going to yell, “Stop talking to me.”
This is the point where I snapped.
And when I say snap I mean snap like a full blown screaming my head off kinda snap. Yelling Mommy reared her ugly head in a volume the neighbours three streets over could hear. I hate Yelling Mommy and very rarely does she make an appearance. Honestly, I can count on one hand the times in Davis’ two (almost three) years on this earth that I’ve snapped like that. Actually that was the first time it was like that but I really want it to be the last.
Sweet toddler didn’t really seem to care that much. In the midst of my hysterics I hear a tiny voice, “I want cheezies.”
The gall of her to ask for a treat when I am obviously upset. “NO,” is my firm reply.
Davis cries for 2 seconds then starts, “Mama… mama… mama… mama… mama… mama… mama… mama… ” and she doesn’t stop.
“What?” I yell.
“I want cheezies.”
“Well, I want a little girl who listens. No cheezies.”
Another symbolic two second cry and then it starts again, “Mama… mama… mama… ” and it continued for the whole 15-minute drive home. By the time we got there I truly wanted to pull my hair out. In the driveway I turned off the car, put my head in the steering wheel and covered my ears. I mean how do these little beings know how to do this? Do they get an instruction manual they memorize before being popped out? Or is it simply an innate ability to drive us nuts like we probably drove our parents nuts?
By the time we got in the house I couldn’t take it. Locking myself in the bathroom just to pull myself together I broke down in tears. It wasn’t just what happened in the car. The accumulation of a bunch of other stresses and situations I’m dealing with right now just got the better of me. Davis knocked incessantly at the door with her, “Mama, mama, mama, mama, mama….” The pace was more insistent and gone was the request for junk food.
Opening the door, defeated I asked, “What?”
Her big brown eyes examined my face and she put her little hand in mine. “It’s ok Mama. I make you feel better.”
The irony of the whole thing is I ended up more wounded than she was. And still we will have to tread down the path of learning how to listening one toddler step at a time. I’m going to need a lot of yoga to help me through. Either that or wine.