Terrible Twos

Terrible twos……… Lord give me strength and have mercy on my soul

Caution: Im going to note right now Im going to have a potty mouth. This isn't a post about the "joys" and "glow" of parenthood….

Anyone who's had kids are cringing at the reminder of this curse. They know exactly what I'm talking about. Except they don't start at two. OH NO. For my Spaz, they started when he turned 1. Literally on his birthday, he woke up and went from this….

Awww.. So sweet right?

to this….

I don't own this photo. Found it on Pinterest under "zombie toddler"

It probably doesn't help that I'm more hormonal than a knocked up cow during July. I was so hormonal today, I began crying in my car when I heard the song, "we wish you a merry christmas". However, hormones or not, this whole "terrible two" curse that every parent have just flat out SUCKS. Go ahead and hate me but Im going to be the honest parent and say that these times make me look at myself in the mirror and think WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINK HAVING KIDS. Thankfully my kid does something sweet to make me say- OK… Ill put up with you for another day.

Yet, I still find myself having Mother-of-the-year moments. Today when Spaz earned himself a time out, mommy's belly threw her balance off and accidentally smacked Spaz's head on the door frame. Needless to say I didn't put him on time out in fear he just thought I hit him on the head for being naughty. I felt awful. Yes. I cried. Don't worry, Grandma, he got lots of loving from me after that. But hey- he behaved for quite a while. But this is not an okay to go smack your kid's head on the wall when they piss you off.

Ahh… The terrible twos. The curse that causes your sweet angel to become a head twirling demon. The throwing of toys, slapping mommy, screaming at the top of his lungs, freaking out over wanting everything and nothing at the same time, not eating anything I make him, biting, and NOW saying "oh shit", would make the strongest of women sit in a closet and drink. Or in my case- eat frosting from the can.

I can't tell you how many times Iv finally snuck away and sat down to relax, and then I hear a scream, a bang from a toy being thrown, then an obnoxious think that sounds like. "mommy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hep You!!!!!!!!!!"- in Spaz language thats AKA Mommy help me I have done something that i could very well take care of myself but I can't reach over two inches and grab that car because my arms and legs are broken and if I reach for it I may die.  

Oh how about going to the bathroom alone? Whats that like? Or taking a shower with out someone banging on the door? Because God forbid I have some privacy to wipe my own ass.

So to some it up.

Dear Spaz,
It is your 18th birthday and you are now an adult. I want you to look in the mirror and thank God that you are here today and that I didn't strangle you or drop you off at the doorstep of a church to be exorcized when you were two years old. However, you were so damn cute to make up for the times you slapped me, bit me, and threw your toys because- hell, why not. You did have some great qualities to make up for the times you drove me so crazy I changed your name to Pain In My Ass. You were a very polite toddler, especially to strangers. You always said please and thank you. And after your time-outs you always hugged your mommy and said Sorry. You took very good care of mommy's belly and always gave me kisses good night along with your Love You's. You behaved in public (for the most part) and were very respectful to your teachers and peers. And even after your time-outs, you still loved me as much as I love you. Now please, move out. Go to college. Become very successful. Happy. Don't marry someone crazy. And put your mom and dad in a great retirement home with candy stripers, shirtless cabana boys, and endless prune juice. And when my memory starts to fade, and you tell me stories of growing up- skip the terrible twos.

Love,
Your mom who probably will get gray hair before 30 thanks to you and your brother.

At the end of the day, Spaz, I would never give you up or not want you. Your terrible twos are teaching me to be strong and patient for those screaming women in labor at work. I see what you're doing, buddy. Thanks

Tis the Season to be… Fat.

Good lord, I'm 29 weeks and I still have a couple months left! Im sitting here in bed blogging- when I should be studying Anthropology- feeling like Im about to live the scene of Alien where the thing pops out of his stomach! Or was it his chest? Either way- this belly is so tight its about to split open, and my son is going to start screaming,

"free at last! free at last! Thank god almighty, Im free at last!" 

I woke up this morning trying to dress myself and begin bawling. All my t-shirt don't cover my belly anymore. My tanks barely cover.. and I'm only 7 months pregnant.. WHAT THE HELL. I may be carrying a litter. I do have a random obsession with getting Spaz a cat for Christmas. Currently the brat inside of me is kicking my ribs and squeezing my bladder. Can you call babies assholes? No? I didn't think so.

This pregnancy, however, has brought out the sweet side of my Beast. Here is some, "Sh*t my husband says"…

"You better get the XL.. for your growing belly."

"Wow you got huge over night."

"You came in like a wrecking ball.." (he was sleeping in the room)

"Weren't you about this big when you were full term with Spaz?"

"He is probably a nine pound baby."

"Ugh, I feel like I'm getting so fat." (I was holding a knife. He was feeling VERY ballsy. And almost lost them as well)

We taught Spaz about the baby in mommy's belly. But it has, of course, backfired tremendously on me. He now thinks everyone has a baby in their belly and that the belly is called a baby. So he goes up to women and points to the belly to say, "baby". I then have to embarrassingly explain he thinks bellies are called babies and that my son is in fact NOT calling them fat.

And Tis the Season to be jolly sick. Spaz has been fighting a cold for about a month. His immune system apparently is enlisted in the Canadian Military. And I, folks, have thrush. Yah, that crap breast fed babies get…. in the mouth. On the tongue. Its so gross… oh you don't know what it is? Its a yeast infection. IN THE MOUTH. You're welcome. Quick go throw up then come back. How did I get this you asked? Well my sweet mother thought it was fun to inform me its a precursor for HIV patients. Thanks, mom. Well since I just had my 3rd test last month, I can safely say THATS not it. And I haven't used any dirty needles lately. Even the Beast got sick. And he is the most pathetic one in the house when sick. But Ill let him get away with it since he only gets sick once a year. And nothing is cuter than a sick animal. Right?

Ugh, back to the grind of school work. Its never ending….. Anyone having trouble sleeping? Go pick up a Chem book.