Battered and Beaten

Toddlers-what a special little bunch. So fun and active…so excited about life…so damn bipolar it makes me want to beat myself with a blunt object. They are moodier than a pregnant broad watching a Victoria’s Secret commercial. One minute my little angel is giving hugs and kisses while gently rubbing my hair, and the next minute I’m getting coldcocked by his mini right hook.  My poor face has taken a beating for months! Most of the time there is a fair warning- he purses his lips and angles his eyebrows downward with a sweet yet psychotic gleam in his eye. I must say I’ve become an expert at the bob-and-weave. But other times he blindsides me with a Thomas the Tank Engine to the side of my dome. I have talked to other parents about toddler aggression, and apparently it is a “boy thing.” What a crock! Are you telling me my sweet little boy is genetically wired to beat the shit out of me? The pain, suffering, and stretching my body went through to create a miniature menace is quite ironic.

But the abuse is not exclusively physical. I take quite an emotional beating from this little guy, too. Let me set the scene…I have just finished taking a 38 second shower (because that’s all the time I can afford to leave my child alone, and even that is too much time). As I open the shower door and reach for my towel, two big, brown, batting eyes greet me. I open my mouth to say ‘hello’ to him, but he quickly cuts me off and screams “Eeeeewwwwwwwwww!” while pointing and laughing at my naked body.  I know, right?! What an ass. Does he not understand how hard it is to find time to workout? Did he not see the new NutriBullet on the counter?! I’ve been making juice! I just signed up for a ½ marathon, for God’s sake! Where’s the credit for that? But, he just pointed, laughed, and then changed the subject to choo-choos, as if I would easily transition to a new topic after being humiliated in my own bathroom.  Too bad your choo-choos can’t pay my therapy bill. Sometimes we will be snuggling on the couch together and he will lift up my shirt and squeeze my gut while laughing. I GET IT. I need to lay off the cookies. Thanks for the constant reminder, Jillian friggin Michaels. 

I was so happy when my little monkey started talking. To hear him say “Love you” is priceless. That is until the day you say, “Love you” to him and he responds with, “NO!” 

Really?...No? Like you have any idea how much I love you, you sassy little thing. You will tell me you love me -and you will like it!

It seems like only yesterday I was holding my sweet, SILENT, stationary little boy. Now I have an unpredictable toddler in my midst. If you are out there suffering in silence, just know that you are not alone. I would really like to tell you that the abuse will soon cease, but sister, that ain’t gonna happen. Bear down and prepare to be lovingly abused for the next several years.  And remember to bob-and-weave.