The spawn of Satan? My child? I may never openly admit it, but there’s a part of me deep down that’s starting to wonder if he is perhaps some sort of evil incarnate. Am I going too far? Perhaps, but this child is testing every ounce of patience I have in my body.

I’ve begun to dread Mondays, much like I used to dread them when I was in Corporate America. It meant my blissful and happy weekends of fun were over which is still the case these days. Mondays always meant something was going to go wrong, which is still the case. Mondays were always the most tiring day of the week for me which I never could understand, but still holds true to this day. These days I don’t just dread Mondays, I dread EVERY DAY that I’m alone with my child. I count the minutes until my husband comes home.

I’ve listened to every ounce of advice possible. I’ve pinned and read every blog on dealing with the Terrible Twos. I’ve sought my own methods and I swear my child is completely immune to everything. People tell me to reason with Davey. Really?!?!?! You try reasoning with an independent, self-absorbed, stubborn, and strong willed twenty month old. Let me know where that gets you!

I’ve spanked him, I’ve popped his hands, I’ve put him in time out, I’ve pleaded with him, I’ve tried to bargain and bribe him, I’ve taken away his toys and still this child is defiant. Instead of him suffering through a punishment, I’m the one that must suffer when my child looks at me and cries with real tears streaming down his cheeks. I’m the one who must suffer when he looks at me and says, “mean, mama”. I’m the one who must suffer when I spend the better part of my day taking away toys which is very time consuming.

I’ve thought of drugging him. Yes, I have, and don’t one of you judge me until you’ve been in my shoes! I’m not talking about hardcore drugs. I’m talking about a little Tylenol. I’ve thought about locking him in the coat closet, but then I have this vision of opening up the closet only to find that he’s turned all of the coats into actors in his own little puppet theatre. Then it won’t be a punishment anymore especially if he enjoys it and purposely does things just to get thrown into the closet.

What I’ve actually considered is just letting him have the house, my dream house, my house that my husband and I built and designed. I’ve considered saying, “screw it, Davey, just demolish the house,” as I’m popping a Xananx or two. I keep telling myself it won’t be like this forever and maybe since he started the Terrible Twos earlier than the age of two, then perhaps it will be over sooner. Am I dreaming? Probably.

Some nights I wake up wondering if my child will grow up to be a serial killer. Will he be a bully and will it be my fault for punishing him too much or not punishing him enough? Hey, I’m not looking for advice from anyone, not anymore. I’m just looking for some reassurance that my child is normal for doing everything I tell him not to do. I want to know he’s normal for antagaonizing our dog. I want to hear that he’s normal for running around the house and pulling everything out of drawers. I want to hear that he’s normal for trying to walk on the back of the couch. I want to know that he’s normal for taking his toys and throwing them instead of just sitting quietly and playing with them. I want to know that it’s normal that he tries to bite me (and only me). I want to know that it’s normal for him to pinch me (and only me). And even if he isn’t normal for all of the above, just humor me and lie to me.