“It’s just a phase. He’ll grow out of it,” my mother says to me for the one millionth time as I’ve called her pleading for advice, help, a drink, anything. She then goes into stories about my brother, how strong willed he was and determined to carve his own path regardless of who was standing in his way. Sounds about like my Henry.
I don’t remember Davey being this terrible. I don’t recall that every other word muttered under my breath was a swear word, as I found some sort of outlet for myself while travelling along the not so dusty road of a two year old. I was actually pregnant with Henry when Davey was going through his terrible twos, and no way was my patience, or lack thereof, this bad. No way! And no way was Davey this demonic. I’ve even snuck into Henry’s room some nights just to see if his eyes glow, or if he’s chanting in his sleep. At least that will confirm what’s going on with him.
It’s gotten to the point where I wonder if it’s too early to start researching military academies for Henry. Is it? I mean, if I tell them my child is a juvenile delinquent and that I’m unable to whip him into shape the way my parents did (spankings and what not), then will they do it for me? Seriously, I’m considering it.
I tell people about Henry and I hear the same. old. thing. “Not my sweet Henry. Not that cute little boy. Maybe you should let me have him for day.” Yes! I will give him to the least highest bidder for the day. Heck, I’ll even pay you and I can guarantee that if he doesn’t turn you into a knee walking drunk, who wants to drown her sorrows in a bathtub full of whiskey every night, nothing will! I would stake my life on the fact that my boy would turn even the driest person in the world into a raging alcoholic. And I’m not really sure if they’ll thank me for it or forever curse me later.
I’ve been told it’s the second child syndrome. Perhaps! Perhaps that is the case. He’s eager to do what his big brother does, but to do it in his own way, AND to do it better, no less. He is strong willed and honestly there are some days when I’m almost tempted to rip off my shirt and just get the verbal, toddler flogging over with! It’s a daily regime. There’s rolling of eyes (mostly his), gnashing of teeth (both of us), and roars that could wake the greatest of hibernating bears (and I think he has me beat with the roars).
He’s bossy, domineering, whiney, dramatic, and I swear if he didn’t have his man parts, I would think I’ve been given a daughter! I wake up daily, praying to make it at least through my coffee (I’ve given up trying to make it through breakfast) before having a melt down to rival that of Chernobyl. I actually get up EARLY just so that I can have some peace and quiet! I sacrifice my sleep! By 10 am, I’m wondering if I could sneak in a beer. By noon, I’m thinking my husband better not be late getting home. By 3, I’m telling myself it’s 5 o’clock somewhere and then considering how it would look to go into the local liquor store with my two kids in tow. I think the owner and everyone else would understand and once they met Henry, I bet my first bottle would be free.
The one perk to this kid’s attitude…I NEVER regret my decision to have a tubaligation. Smartest decision I’ve ever made. EVER!