Carter’s ability to listen has gone the way of the dodo bird. My patience have run very thin these days. Everything - EVERYTHING - has turned into a battle of wills with him. I don’t know that it’s the arrival of Hudson that’s caused this change in behaviour because it began before Hudson was born - but it’s dramatically increased over the past two weeks to the point where Mike and I are at our whits end when it comes to dealing with him. All the bribery in the world can’t get him to eat a meal, sit still or stop to change a wet pull up.

I won’t yell at him, but I do find myself raising my voice more often then I would like.

Growing up my mom was very passionate.

And by passionate I mean she liked to yell. A lot.

I blame it on the Hungarian heritage.

I promised myself that I would be a calm and understanding parent when I had children. I would reason with them and compromise rather then dictate. I would not raise my voice, hit or threaten.

I have yet to hit, but I have threatened and raised my voice more then I care to remember. It’s really a challenge not to fall into the patterns of discipline that my parents used on me. It just happens without even thinking about it; then when I take a step back, I realize that I’ve just done what I promised myself I would NEVER do.

He’s just so stubborn (like me) and very emotional (like me) which, I think, has caused our personalities to clash to the point where a blow up will ensue and I have to remind myself to step back and remember that I am the adult and I make the rules. Not him.

There’s also been a significant decrease in Mike’s ability to react rationally when Carter begins to tune us out - but he says that it’s because he’s changing tactics since Carter’s gotten away with so much for so long. I know it’s not too late to redirect this change in attitude, but where to start is the trouble.

Timeouts? I have an egg timer that I have set for three minutes (since timeout should last 1 minute for every year of age says a number of sources) and he sits on the stairs until the timer beeps. If he continues to talk or move the timeout lasts longer - but it’s proving to be ineffective.

The damn kid just won’t sit still.

And won’t shut the hell up.

He talks for the moment he wakes until he goes to bed.

And he refuses to nap during the day.

I am about one iota away from shaking him sometimes.

But I love him TOO much.

Lucky bugger.

I’ve begun a reward system where I give him stickers when he does something like I’ve asked since the kid is crazy about stickers.

[Stickers aren't just for potty anymore people!]

It’s also hit and miss most of the time.

Maybe he’s bored? Maybe I just suck as a companion for him and he’s not getting enough stimulation?

Maybe he’s just fuckin’ wired to the gills and I need a parenting course to figure out this child.

Maybe I should just start drinking more.

Very early on in our relationship, talk of children ensued. I just turned 19 when we began dating, I was in college and children were the last thing on my mind. In fact, I think all I was worried about at that time was which bar we would be going to that night.

Mike has always been very keen on having children, as was I; but not yet. I wanted to finish school, get a job - which hopefully would become a career - and maybe settle down a little more. He didn’t pressure nor did he insist, but there would be hints and suggestions along the way making me realize that he was quite serious - surprisingly for someone who was just 4 years my senior and very much a partier too.

After 4 years of living together, the conversations came more frequently even though he never once made an official request to start trying for children, though, there was plenty of practice time occurring *nudge, nudge, hint, hint* I knew at that point things were only going to progress.

I suggested getting a dog.

Buy myself some time, you know.

And so our beloved pit bull, Briggs, entered the picture. She was just the companion Mike needed and the distraction I was looking for. Though, I love her to death, I digress. I had ulterior motives. She would be the “child” that Mike so craved and she would be my Savior from bearing children at that point in my life.

A couple years passed, Briggs’ newness diminished and rearing children once again reared it ugly head.

Though, it wasn’t so ugly anymore.

At 25 I had a stable and comfortable position in the workforce, we had been together for 6 years and engaged for 5 of those.

And I’d already played The Dog card.

Fast forward nine - okay eleven if you include the months that were unsuccessful - months and Carter arrives.

I’ve always been comfortable with children and babies so I really didn’t think I had that much to learn. I could hold my own with diaper changes, dressing, handling, etc.

One thing that threw me off that no one explained?

The crying.

Mine. Not his.

I would cry at the drop of a hat. Literally.

Mike gaving me a hug.
Commercials.

Driving in the car.

Someone asking me how I was doing.

Mike leaving for work.

Carter sleeping in his bassinet.

The night time feedings.

The first projectile vomit.

My sore boobs.

Someone saying how cute my baby was.

Tears would weld in my eyes or, if I was home - alone, I would full on bawl my eyes out.

I’m a crier by nature. I cry when I’m happy, laughing, sad, mad - you name it I cry… but I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much in my life expect when Milli Vanilli was found out to be fake as I did in those first few weeks of parenthood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a lot about motherhood you wish you’d known before becoming a mom. Write about it anytime between now and Sunday, then send a link to your post to PBN. It’s this week’s Blog Blast, sponsored by Discovery Health and their new series “Deliver Me”.

I really don’t know whether to laugh or cry at this point; I’ve been sick so much that I can’t quite remember what it feels like not to be. If I’m not sick (for a maximum of a week’s time), I recuperating from the cold I am getting over, then another hits. On top of being completely physically exhausting, it’s a mental drain as well. I hate feeling sorry for myself, but I can’t help it anymore. Depression deepens with each cough and sniffle. I just detest being sick.

This kid is going to be lost outside the womb without the hacking, coughing and wheezing that it’s become accustomed to in there.

Aside from the new cold I’ve developed, Easter weekend was a nice little break. (Though, I have been working out of a different office for the past couple months and got an email today saying that my company has shut down for Easter Monday as well. Dude, I should so be sitting at home right now… but I’m in the damn office because I just got the email now. From Thursday afternoon. When I had already left for my weekend. Go figure.)

We did our fist Easter egg hunt for Carter this year and he had an absolute blast! I thought for sure he would have been bored after a few eggs and given up but he was so into it Mike and I were scrambling around with the left over Mini Eggs and foil wrapped chocolate eggs hiding more as he hunted. He just couldn’t get enough!

“Look Daddy! I find ‘em!”

Briggs just hanging out watching the action 

Now, I’m off to wallow in self pity. Oh, and work. I guess.

The week prior to returning to work from my one year maternity leave, Carter and I began visiting his new daycare. To assist in the transition, we would spend a couple hours a day with the infant class while Carter somewhat picked up on the bit of schedule they had. Snack time, play time, circle, nap etc. I stayed, as requested, since he wasn’t officially enrolled at the time. Though younger then me, I felt comfortable that the teachers were capable for the ten children in their care. Mine included.

I still remember the first day, holding back tears as I walked away from my child sitting in a room of strangers. I remember getting to my car and breaking down as I headed for the highway; for my first day in the office after a year’s leave. As much as I was ready to get back to work; to have adult interaction and to have a little space from being a full time parent, I wanted to turn the clocks back. I wanted to be home with my infant son: to care for him, cuddle him and make sure that nothing ever was able to harm him.

Fast forward to now: 564-ish days later. Carter has graduated from Infant to Toddler and now to Junior Pre-School. The adjustments, I think, has been more substantial for me.

My biggest test has finally been unveiled. I have yet to accept.

Carter’s class has a field trip coming up on March 27. The 25-ish of them, plus the Pre-School class and the Kindergarten class are loading onto a bus and going to an indoor playground for the morning.

Mike is dead set against allowing our two year old to go on a rickety old school bus - sans seat belts - for this adventure.

I am extremely uncomfortable with the idea.

Is Carter ready? I mean, he is only two: to get onto a school bus with little to no protection - not even a damn lap belt! - at that age scares the shit out of me.

Am I having trouble letting go? Should I be allowing this?

BUT THERE’S NO SEAT BELTS!

Carter is strapped in like Fort Knox in our car. His car seat installation checked by professionals. Five point harness, the works. There are car seat laws here where children up to eight years old have to be secured in car seats / booster seats - these car seat laws do not translate to school buses, therefore he would go from secure to NOTHING - not even a lap belt - which really concerns me.

When we were children, my brother and I used to jump around the backseat, lie at the base of the rear window, and play in the floor of the backseat. Could a bus trip, once, for a short while, be that dangerous?

Alas, I declined to allow my two year old son to join his friends on their first field trip. Have I robbed him of this learning opportunity? Am I holding back his development into A Boy - not The Baby that I so long for him to remain? Has my overbearing (Ha!) parenting deprived my child of a crucial step from Toddler to Pre-Schooler?

Time will tell I suppose.

Maybe when I’m trying desperately to saw that umbilical cord with a dull object while pushing him out the door at 25 18.