My soon to be 3 year old daughter woke up on the wrong side of Mars yesterday. I can't even use the haggard expression, "wrong side of the bed," because I really think she had been abducted by aliens in the middle of the night. People, sometimes kids are just a major pain in the ass, and I'm ok saying that. I'm also one of those assholes who admitted that being pregnant was about the worst thing my body ever had to experience, so I'm not sure if you want to continue reading.
I recently saw a cousin of mine whom I haven't seen in a few years. We were talking about kids, and she asked if I planned to have any more. "Good God, NO!" I said. "I don't ever want to be pregnant again. I absolutely hated being pregnant."
"Me too," she said. "And I'm glad you said that because I've never heard anyone say that before."
Why not? Let's be honest, it's not fun. At least it wasn't for me and a lot of my friends. We often joked about how we hated those women who "loved" being pregnant. Do I really hate them? Of course not, but I don't understand how any moment of the sleepless nights, the constant peeing, the nausea, the weight gain, the back pain, and the aversions to foods and smells that normally one finds titillating can by any stretch be deemed enjoyable. Expect for the fact that you end up with an amazing little child when it's all over. That's the only PLUS, to pregnancy. It's for the kids. And I love my kids. But I was elated to find this dandy little chart of another endearing parent who recognizes that sometimes the little shits are just out to destroy you.
The little love of my life earned a 5 of 6 on this chart yesterday. She was a monster who woke up crying and determined to ruin father's day for my husband. We got in the car, and she continued to cry, and my husband kindly asked her to please stop because it was his special day. She refused.
"Just ignore her," I said.
"Please stop crying," he said.
"I want to go home," she cried.
I turned up the radio.
"Enough," he said. "Why are you crying?"
"She doesn't know," I answered. "Try to just ignore her."
"But it's so annoying," he said.
The day continued and she vacillated between a weeping willow and an obstinate little witchy-witch.
Our family participated in a road race, and before we started, little witchy-pants and I went to the bathroom.
"No, I don't have to go potty," she cried as if I had just asked her to chop off a leg.
"Ok, well mommy has to go, so come in with me."
Mommy sits and begins to go potty while witchy-witch stands at the door, hand reaching for the lock.
"Don't touch that...get away from the door."
The door is now open. Mommy is still on the potty midstream.
"Get back in here."
She turns and looks at more scornfully and with the freshest voice she has ever used says, "No! I don't have to go potty."
It's not even 10 AM yet. In my head, I question whether these are behaviors she is learning at day care because she is being a big jerk. Throughout the day, she had pockets of sunshine, where I believed that the alien who had kidnapped her body had finally escaped, but then the beast returned.
But when night came and it was time for bed, I held her in my arms and rocked her with all the love that I have for her, and I told her, as I tell her every night that she is the best little her there ever was. "But you have to try to do good listening, good behavior, and use good manners."
"Ok, mommy. I want you to lie down with me."
And that's what makes it all worth it. The pregnancy, the labor, the delivery, the public exposure of me peeing in a stall, the turning and running away from daddy in the middle of a city street, the kicking her sister in the head from the back seat of the stroller. All of it. Because she's the sweetest little witchy-witch there ever was.