I Win!

I don't know about you but I have a "strong willed child" in my son.  And when I say "strong willed child" I realize that it is a nice term for complete pain in the ass.  Seriously, my nick name for my son is Drama Queen.  It's really a good thing he's not a girl or he would be completely unbearable.  As it is, he is manageable... sometimes.

Today was not one of those times.  

It's a lot more like this, but with more
sobbing from me.

Before I even begin my story of remorse and struggle, let me give you an example about what I mean by "strong willed".  When he was three months old we decided it was time for him to sleep through the night.  So we tried the cry-it-out method.  This worked great for my daughter.  In three days time she was sleeping through the night like she owned it.  So we figure he'd do great.  Well, 3 and a half hours later he is still losing his mind.  (Yes, I'm a bad mom.  I just kept telling myself, he can't possibly cry much longer.  He's going to pass out any minute.  Not so much.)  Needless to say, after a week of him crying me into hysteria, we changed tactics that ended up with him waking up every three hours till he was nine months old.  

Or the fact that he didn't walk before he was 15 months old.  Oh, he could!  He just refused to since it wasn't his idea.  It was so bad that my parents where telling me that it was because I wasn't working with him enough.  But no amount of coaxing was going to get him to do it before he was ready.

But really, these are all just elementary examples.  These are nothing in comparison to the daily struggles that come with a "strong willed child". (or whatever you wanna call them)  Today seriously took the cake.  I honestly couldn't even believe what was happening.  You can't write this schmit!

I'm trying to get out of the house, not because I want to but because I should probably have food in my refrigerator and maybe get some diapers so I don't have to start reusing them.  So off to Target we go!  The princess wants to bring her baby doll stroller but I told her she couldn't bring it.  So after a fairly sulky moment or two she walks out the door stroller less.  Well, seeing the stroller without person, my son takes it upon himself to take the stroller with us.  No, I say again.  You can not bring the stroller...

Why didn't I just say he could bring the stroller?  Why oh why oh why?

He starts into one of his fits where he is screaming bloody murder.  The sounds that this boy can produce is an art form.  He could make money by doing scream-overs for horror films.  Something about his scream just makes your skin crawl.  Talent.

Whatever, I can deal with this.  This ain't my first rodeo.  So I pick him up, get him and the princess out the door and into the car.  The fit doesn't end there.  Oh no, not for a long shot.  I spend the next 5 to 10 minutes physically wrestling my son into his car seat.  He does this thing where he arches his back like one of those little Olympic chinese gymnasts.  So by the time I get him buckled in, I'm sweating, I'm swearing and I'm pretty sure one of my neighbors has called child services.  I have roughly 15 minutes to get out of my driveway before the cops pull up.  Now this is where it gets interesting.

I finally get him in and I say to him.  "Ha!  There! I won!" Well, he takes one look at me and and starts shoving his fingers into his mouth.  He is screaming and crying and now he's choking.  

"Don't give me that!  Just let it go.  I won, we're moving on." As I'm buckling in my daughter.

"You'll survive.  It's just target.  You like target."  as I get into the front seat.

"If you throw up, I will be so mad!" As I'm turing the key in the ignition.

I turn around to pull my van out of my driveway just in time to watch my belligerent child vomit all over himself...

Can I cry now?

I now have to pull everyone back out of the car, get everyone back inside, undress then redress the boy and start the exiting of the house all over again.  The best part is, as I am losing my schmit getting the kids out of the car and into the house again, I notice my neighbor staring at me one swear word to late and now on top of being furious I also want to sink into the floor out of embarrassment. 

God, I am a bad mom.  Sob*

One thing I do notice between my sobs of frustration, my son is happier then a pig in poop!  There is just something a little off about how happy and content he is as I change him out of his throw up clothes.  As I pull off his shirt he looks right up at me and gives me a winning smile as if to say,

I win.

Antenella