Yelling at my kid

 I am sad to report that I have become the mom who yells. Not every time, and not in every situation, but when "nice voices" don't get my kid's attention and he has the gall to say "no" when I calmly ask him to go back to bed because I'm busy watching Bridgerton, folding my laundry and enjoying not having kids all up in my face, yelling is the only thing that gets him to budge. Oh, and taking away his treasured blanket, because basically I'm a monster.

Look, I hate yelling. I hate the way it makes me sound, I hate the way it makes me feel, I hate it when my kid actually gets upset at my yelling (trembling chin, eyes filling up with tears), I hate it when the baby who is sitting nearby starts crying because mom's yelling, even though it's not directed at her. Yelling gets my blood pressure up, it gets my anxiety simmering and it makes me feel like a failure as a mom. But it's so hard to resist the false promise that yelling yields results, primarily because yelling usually yields the results I'm seeking in that moment. I have literally yelled at my 4 year old about how much I hate yelling but how yelling is the only thing that actually gets his attention and gets him to follow the directions he's been given 43 times. 

I constantly read and follow mom accounts on IG that give me guidance on how to deal with toddlers and their tantrums, picky eating, etc. Obviously I've read multiple times that yelling only reinforces to them that out-of-control responses are ok. And it's clear that my son has picked up on this; sometimes he will get upset at the tiniest thing and he will escalate quickly by matter-of-factly yelling in my face about what he will or won't do. And honestly, when that happens, I feel like I'm looking in a mirror. In that moment, I can see the damage my yelling has done, and I hate myself for it. I hate that I'm asking my 4 year old to control his emotional responses but I, a grown ass woman, can't control my own. I almost always apologize to my kid after I've yelled, and even this seems disingenuous because I will inevitably do it again.

I have my good days and my bad days with the yelling. Sometimes I can recognize that my patience is thin and my temper is flaring and I can stop myself from yelling and reel it in. But then other times, I can't stop myself, even though as it's happening I know I'm not being the best I can be. I understand that I'm not perfect, and I accept that. I also accept that some days aren't going to be good days for me because the stress of parenthood is too overwhelming. I guess my goal is this: every day I will try to recognize that yelling isn't the best option I can choose, but I'm still only human. 

NO WAIT, IT'S THE FOURS! THE FRAZZLED, FITFUL FOURS!

You guys. I was warned by moms who have gone through it that, in fact, it's the FOURS that are the real ballbusters, and you know what? They are completely correct. My son, who turned four earlier this year, is........challenging. In both good and bad ways. It just depends. But basically I can sum it up like this: four years old is a three year old tantrum but with way more sass and attitude. Case in point: the other day, my son had waited too long to poop and thus had skid marks in his underwear. After I started to yell at him (since this was the 2nd day in a row he had done this while at home, 2 feet away from the bathroom) I realized the yelling wouldn't help so I tried to dial my reaction down a bit and speak more calmly. I explained that I was getting tired of washing soiled underwear every other day, and my son responded by stating "Well, if you don't wash my underwear then daddy will." I replied that maybe he would, and my son would have to take that issue up with his dad. My son's dead serious, matter-of-fact response: "well, if he doesn't wash my underwear, then I'm going to put my poop all over the wall. I'll put it all over the toilet paper and on the floor and on the table and on the mail. So if he doesn't wash my underwear, that's what I'm going to do." Needless to say, I couldn't hold my laughter in and that broke the tension for the time being, which was a positive thing. But seriously, what a little asshole! 

One trip around the sun

 My baby girl is turning 1 year old tomorrow, and I can hardly believe it. That was the fastest year of my life, and it was the year of the Covid, so that's saying something. 

**UPDATE**

I started the post above, and I never finished it. Go figure. That's actually a perfect example of what being a mom of two young kiddos is all about: starting things and then never getting the chance to finish them.

Anyhoo, my daughter turned 1 at the end of April, and it seriously came around lightning fast. You would think with how tired I am and how long the days can feel with these kids that it wouldn't have felt like it happened so quickly, but it did. And I have the sneaking suspicion that everything will be this way from here on out, because she is my last baby. And she's literally running to keep up with her big brother, so this girl is on a mission to grow up way faster than I'm prepared for her to. 

Thinking back on this year gets me all choked up, because amidst the Covid bullshit and the stress of two kids, my daughter brought so much joy to our home. I mean, maybe not for the boys in this house (pets included), but it has been nothing short of nirvana for me, having this sweet ball of energy and tenacity to wake up to every day. She is so unlike her big brother; she plunges headfirst into everything (figuratively and literally; she constantly has red spots on her head from using it as a battering ram) and isn't shy or timid towards anyone or anything (except for maybe her boy cousin who has been known to playfully swat her in the head a few times). She wakes up bright and early every day, no matter what time she went to bed; meanwhile her brother is still snoring for another hour. She loves being outside, no matter if it's hot or cold or raining. She is obsessed with books (both kids actually love reading). She loves the family pets and will attempt to pet, chase, climb on, etc (the boy couldn't care less about the animals). She loves getting her hands dirty in the sandbox or digging around in my tomato plants and then getting herself soaking wet at the water table. She puts just about everything in her mouth, which is not my favorite whatsoever, but at least she'll have a robust immune system. She is such a light in our lives and sometimes I can't believe I was ever afraid or intimidated when I found out I was having a girl. I couldn't imagine our lives without her. 

I'm at the point where I have to find a daycare for her, and I know that I'll be just as nervous and anxious about her starting as I was with my son. Even though she is a force, she's still a mama's girl and has plenty of "stranger danger" intuition. And as with my son, I know things will work out fine in the long run, but I don't want her to go quite yet. Even though she's running to do everything her brother is doing, she's still a baby in my eyes, and I would give anything to have one more day of baby snuggles with her. Hell, I'd even do some midnight feedings, just to have the chance to experience those moments again. As I've said in a previous post: don't blink.