Okay. It’s been a week. Only a week, people! I am at my wits end. I love her to pieces, I swear to God I do. I just can’t hear her say “Aunt Jill” one more time! This is how the dialog usually progresses –
Her – “Aunt Jill!”
Me – “Yes, honey?”
(enter random question)
5 minutes later
Her – “Aunt Jillllll!”
Me- “YES, honey?”
(enter request for 3rd cup of chocolate milk)
10 minutes later
Her – “Aunt JILLLLL!”
Me – “WHAT….sweetie?”
(enter request to join her in a game of dress my naked Barbies)
15 minutes later
Her- “Aunt Jiiiiiiillllllll!”
Me – “WHAT???!!!!”
(enter request to wipe her butt)
When she is just around my husband she is completely self sufficient, but when I’m around she wants me by her side constantly and to do everything with her. I know…I know…I’m terrible for feeling this way. She’s been through a lot. She feels comfortable with me. It all makes perfect sense when you are thinking rationally. But…I just want to be left alone for 5 minutes!
My husband and I are pretty much taking turns at this point watching her since we are on opposite work schedules. I swear, she waits until my watch to poop so that I can wipe her butt. It’s not fair! I’m trying to teach her how to be a big girl and wipe her own ass. I even bought her special wipes. All I can say is thank GOD this is not the first trimester. I’d be cleaning her poopy butt and the vomit down her back at the same time. And yes, I know I have plenty of butt wipes ahead of me. That doesn’t mean I have to be comfortable with it now. OH! And she has peed in her jammies TWICE on my watch. She gets to the stool that is in front of the toilet, stands on it, but somehow can’t quite hold the pee for the two additional seconds it would take to drop her drawers and put her butt on the seat. All I hear from the bathroom is, “Aunt Jiiiiillllll!……. I pottied in my jammies!” and she’s smiling when I come in, like that shit is funny! It’s not funny. I have told her this repeatedly. She still laughs.
This whole thing is really starting to freak me out. Am I going to be a terrible mother? I mean, we should still be in the honeymoon phase with her. I’m losing it after only one week! I have no patience. I need some…fast. Is it something that comes after birth, like the ability to live off of 2 hours of sleep a night? Is it a side effect of the pain you experience when your vagina rips in half? Or is it more like an acquired talent….like…. parallel parking?
I work part time at a small children’s store, a “specialty” store they like to call it. It’s a cake gig. I get a sweet discount, but I’ve never absolutely LOVED it…until now. I have never looked forward to going to work so much in my life. This has really opened my eyes to the fact that I don’t think I can be a stay at home mom like I was originally planning. Maybe it will be different when it’s my own kid, or when I’ve had time to grow into the whole toddler phase…or maybe not. It’s definitely something to think about.
And at this store I constantly see parents come in, demonstrating the most extreme patience I have ever witnessed with their children. To the point that I want to shake them (the parents…not the kids…never shake a baby) and tell them, “YOU ARE THE PARENT! YOU ARE THE BOSS!” For example, this middle aged couple came in with a maybe 4 year old boy the other day. I asked if I could help them with anything and they said they were just there to pick out a placemat for little Johnny. They then proceeded to follow little Johnny around the store for 45 frickin minutes “trying to make him decide”.
Parents – “Johnny, which placemat do you want? You just have to point at one”
(Johnny ignores parents because tearing down the toys on the endcap is far more entertaining than picking out a stupid ass placemat)
Parents – “Okay, you can play for a few more minutes and then pick one out…okay?”
(Johnny has moved on to the ball bin, God help me)
Parents – “Johnny, do you like the blue one or the red one? Just point, sweetie…that’s all you have to do. We want to get you a place mat you really like.”
(Does Johnny give a shit about the placemat? I think not)
I am so serious when I say this went on for 45 minutes. I timed them. FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!! IT’S A PLACEMAT! I don’t know about you, but if that were me, I would have chosen the placemat for little Johnny after 5 minutes and been about my merry way. If he doesn’t like the damn placemat…tough shit. He can eat on top of a garbage bag for all I care. I just don’t understand parents like that. Who the hell has that kind of time? And what a disservice you are doing to your child! I really, really don’t think it’s in my nature to ever be that… uh… I guess you would call it patient, or maybe more accurately… ridiculously accommodating to anyone’s offspring, including my own. Does that make me terrible? I hope not.
However, I do hope I can strengthen my patience muscle a little more over the course of the next few weeks. I may never follow my niece or my kids around McDonald’s for hours asking which Happy Meal toy they would like, but I get that I could be a little more understanding that kids ask questions, need help, like to play with you, etc.
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