It started off so well. She woke up in a good mood and we went to playgroup without a hitch. One and a half hours later we head home with a balloon and a smile. Get home and the ‘no food’ story starts. So I decide to be lenient and just let her have some flings because she has swimming in two hours and needs to eat something at least.
I cut open the packet and all hell breaks loose because I didn’t tear it open. She goes ballistic. Zero to demonchild in 2 seconds flat. Things are being thrown, kicked, scratched. Just last night I told myself that I’m going to stop smacking her hand and raising my voice and instead just leave her in the room to calm down. So I pick her up, take her to the room and leave her there. She runs out three times to cause destruction. But on the third time she has a surprise in her panty (she’s almost fully potty trained but asks for a nappy when she wants to poo or sleep). She didn’t ask for a nappy this time. I guess she literally lost her shit with this tantrum. Ha. Anyway, my good intentions fly out the window and she gets an earful from me in the bathroom when she refuses to take off her panty and things get…shall we say…messy. That shocks her into silence at last and I manage to clean her up and get a pull up on just in case.
But it isn’t over. 3 more trips to the room. She’s in tears, I’m in tears. It’s a pretty fucked up situation. I get that she’s at the age where she wants things done a certain way and when it’s not she can’t handle the frustration. I get it. That doesn’t make it any easier.
Now she’s found a juice box her dad bought yesterday and has reverted back to angel status to butter me up. ‘Mummy wook! Daddy juice mine’
I need a drink.