The Baby Blues
The Baby Blues.
It's not what you think.
I know you may be assuming from that title that I am feeling the ache of empty arms since I no longer have babies in the house. I am staring longingly at the snuggly bundles of goodness I see with other mommies at Target or being pushed in their little strollers throughout my neighborhood. You might think I am pining away for another baby and begging my husband for #4.
Sister, you couldn't be further from the truth.
In this case, "the baby blues" is referring to the fact that I am about 99.9% positive that my baby, the four-year-old, is indeed going to kill me before it's all said and done.
I'm serious. If this child had been born first, she would be an only child because my husband and I would be scared to death to risk it again. For heaven's sake! Our first child was totally false advertising. She had us thinking this parenting gig was a piece of cake. What was everybody whining about? Our second child was a teeny bit more challenging in temperament, but still, we were feeling pretty confident that we were exceptionally gifted at parenting.
And then...the baby was born. And we were instantly in love.
The good times are SO good. She is the very picture of sweetness. I mean, seriously, look at this kid. Adorable. She's funny and smart and imaginative and totally lovable.
But the bad times? Well, let's just examine the evidence. Perhaps some of you mothers out there can identify with my baby blues because you're just as bewildered as I am over how in the world you're going to manage to raise your own little darling.
Last week I took the kids and bought each of them a new pair of summer shoes. The oldest chose flip flops, the middle one wanted waterproof shoes, and the baby wanted these cute purple crocs with a big flower on them. She was happy as a clam and couldn't even wait til we got out of the parking lot to put them on. She was smiling from ear to ear.
And Exhibit B, a mere two days later:
Someone was unhappy because she got overruled and did not get to have Chick-fil-a for dinner. Oh, the humanity of it all. It was just more than her "eet mor chikin" heart could handle. She just couldn't contain her emotions and those little crocs were in the line of fire. They paid the ultimate price.
Sounds so simple, doesn't it? And it would be, except my child suffers from a rare condition I like to call "bedtime skitzophrenia". She lays out her clothes happily and smiles so angelically as I tuck her in, assuring me that she can't wait to wear them in the morning.
And then morning arrives. Somehow the hours between 8pm and 7:30am completely and 100% change all her favorite choices into the most despised items in the universe.
For cryin' out loud. I am pretty sure I am going to get stopped by the staff at her mother's day out one of these days with concerns that my child is not being well taken care of. You see, I was so frustrated with her I told her I refuse to buy her new shoes for one month, so if she wants to wear the crocs, she'd better be okay with parading duct tape for all to see. This in addition to the fact that she lets me do her hair with bows or ponytails and then immediately rips them out before she gets to school leaves her looking a little like a pitiful orphan child. And don't forget she's wearing the same outfit to boot.
Babies of the family. What would we do without them? How boring it would be without literally chasing my child through stores and searching for her at Disney World (FOUR times!) and pleading with her to change her clothes. We're not totally sure where this child came from, but we do know this: she will be the one who takes care of us in our old age.
How's that for scary?
Please, tell me I'm not the only mama out there wondering how on earth she will manage her"strong-willed" baby. We must stand together!