Just to keep you posted about the status of my waning parental confidence for the week, I’m highlighting the major <strike>traumatizing</strike> events for each of my children:

Plus One (nearly 3):

1.  I apologize in advance for how vulgar this will sound, but I pretty much gave my son his first black eye.  Now, before I explain the HOW, let me give you some background info.  First, my son is LARGE. He’s in the 95th percentile for height and weight, so he’s basically a 5 year old with the energy and, um, pizzazz? of a 2.5 year old.  It’s treacherous, I tell you.  SO, trying to negotiate him into his car seat Monday morning, I smashed the side of his face on the car door window.

Let’s say that again. I SMASHED HIS HEAD.  ON A WINDOW. (My little, little boy!)

Sigh.

2. He’s developed a bit of a cold, and with Daddy away for work, Plus One is just not all too pleased with the world.  (I suppose the aforementioned incident may also be playing a role here.)  So in an effort to cheer him, I brought out an old Spider Man costume that I’d found at a Yard Sale.  Holy COW did that do the trick.  He was GGGRRRAAARRR-ing like a champ.  Sure, Spider Man doesn’t exactly “ROAR” but try telling that to a cranky 3 year old.  ALSO try taking said outfit off before dinner.

Heh.  These things should really come with some sort of warning label:  REMOVAL FROM CHILD MAY RESULT IN YOUR UNTIMELY DEATH.

I’m pretty sure all that screeching was not pleasant for his already raw throat.  Welp.  You know what they say about good intentions.

T9 (aged 10 months):

1. My BABY baby is starting to AGE.  Which, I know is completely absurd and slightly obvious (or vice versa).  But he has officially reached that unofficial milestone: THE BLEEDING milestone,.  Now that T9 knows how to get upright, the boy won’t. stay. down.  Even if staying down means that you won’t use your BRAND NEW front teeth as a hammer for that lower shelf on the coffee table.  Because that kind of thing means blood.  And blood means less BABY and more BOY (and therapy for Momma).

2. Yesterday as I was about to get T9 out of his high chair, I heard a soft grunt and saw the waning color of red in his cheeks.  Then I smelled it.   I picked him up and carried him back to his room.  Dinner was still cooking, but I figured there was plenty of time for a quick diaper change.

I have never been more wrong in my life.

People, this was the biggest of shitting catastrophes, like ever, for any mom EVER. (Maybe.)  The worst part was that I was just so unprepared.  I pulled off his pants and within SECONDS—I swear to you—he had a handful of it and was aiming for his head.  Perhaps his mouth.  I’m not proud to say it, but I totally freaked: “NOOOOOOH NONONONONONOOOHH!”

I screamed.  Shouted.  AT MY BABY.  He started crying at me and I felt so rotten that I picked him up to sooth him.

So now we were both covered in shit.  And dinner was now burning.

But today…today is Friday.  And each morning, we start again.  Clean slate. More coffee.

Tags: bumps & bruises, poop, tantrums, time-outs

This entry was posted on Friday, October 2nd, 2009 at 12:01 am and is filed under Tall Tales. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.