La La How The Life Goes On

One Day At A Time

Posted on: December 15, 2011

Jerry Seinfeld once described life with a 2 year old as akin to operating a blender with the lid off. I would like to offer my thoughts on living with my particular 3 year old: it is akin to living with an angry drunk. Baby Sister has always been our little Nutball. She has never been demure or cautious or malleable, so her twos were challenging, as they are for most. However, turning three has turned her into the ultimate obstinate, opinionated conflict machine who can talk but won’t nap. It’s a perfect storm wherein she has just the right amount of ability in multiple areas to be dangerous– and pissed off. As a result, she is frequently annoyed at me for not being able to read her mind, understand what a whiny, “shooooooeeeeeesssss” means (shoes off? Shoes on? Shoes are hurting? Throw me a bone here, kid!), and for suggesting that she may be tired (“Me not tired! You tired! You not talk anymore!”). Simple tasks require extra time built in for tantrums, because Mama don’t negotiate with terrorists. I told the BabyDaddy that hanging with BabySister is just straight up exhausting because, well, high maintenance, outburst-prone people who alternately create and forget drama in minute-to-minute cycles are exhausting, whatever their age.

At the same time (and at alternating moments) Baby Sister is also the sweetest, kindest, funniest, most compassionate girl in the world. I can prove this because her preschool teachers swear that this is the only BabySister they see. At school she apparently complies with all requests, follows all directions, and is an unalloyed joy to work with. We walk in there every morning, fresh off a bench-clearing brawl because she has refused to wear underpants and, while I may run a rather slack operation at times at Chez Jones, underwear is entirely non-negotiable. She just runs over to her friends and gets happy. (She has a particular preference for the Israeli boys, who completely love her right back). You would have zero indication that the preceding 15 minutes had been a study in total effing irrationality about a pair of drawers.

And so this is my life. Which should answer your questions about why I look so damn haggard 25-8. But it also, in a twisted way, should answer your questions about why I am happy regardless. First, because This Too Shall Pass. She won’t be 3 and a drunk forever. Soon she’ll be a teenager, which is probably like an angry drunk who can drive your car. So I’m trying to enjoy the good moments while they last. Second, because her infinite capacity for sweetness (mama, you my best friend) trumps her infinite capacity for dramatic willfulness. And third, because Baby Sister obviously feels safe and secure enough to behave like a complete head case with me. My mom friends and I joke that our kids save their worst selves for us, and I think that’s a good and special thing, even if the bags under my eyes don’t agree.


1 Response to "One Day At A Time"

LOL That sounds like my baby sister! Thankfully she is a quite tolerable teenager.

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