Mean Mommy Strikes

Scene:  Much like an AA meeting, the circle of folding chairs is filled by different types of women of various ages.  A table full of the local grocery store's best mini-muffins, frosted cookies and some lemon shortbread sit waiting on the table next to an urn of coffee (the drink of choice for busy mothers). 

I envision myself, swollen stomach filling out my maternity khakis, as I heave myself up from the folding chair and saying, "Hi. My name is Vicky and I'm a mean mommy."  The group looks on saying the requisite, "Hi, Vicky." At least that is how I feel today.  And yesterday and basically all the time these days. It is as if I'm the meanest mother in the whole wide world and I need to find a support group.

Is there such a thing?

Someone forgot to mention to me that somewhere between the myth of the Terrible Two's (which never actually  happened) and Three's is the Horrible Half's.  Sweet Jesus is two and a half the bane of my existence! Each day is a battle that lately I feel I am losing.  No matter what I say, how I say it or play it I cannot get my kid to listen.  We fight the same fight each day over every subject imaginable.  Pants are suddenly not to be worn. Why can't we run with gobs of grapes in our mouth while shaking our head to and fro? What Mommy? Pushing the stroller into the wall for the bazillionth time is bad? Nothing can be done without confrontation and running in circles.  In the end, a punishment is doled out.  Whether it is a time out on the "naughty step" or a loss of a privilege nothing seems to work.  Whole days go by where I feel like I'm drilling the same lessons over and over again into her and they never sink in.  Nothing phases her either. 

Then today, after putting my child down for a nap I heard it. The loud thuds that can only be one thing.  Books from the book shelf hitting the floor.  Every book. On the floor.  After we went over the rules of "books are not to be thrown on the floor" for the umpteenth time.  I headed upstairs, heavy with annoyance and lack of patience and found a room that was such a mess in such a short period of time I just lost it.  I took away the security blanket and stuffed toy she naps with. The wailing soon ensued. I calmly explained how she knew this would happen if she disobeyed and I closed the bedroom door.

Now?  I'm the one who feels bad.  She's asleep.  She can do it after all without all her blankies and Cuppies but me, the one who is actually holding the "Dee dee and Cuppy" feels the worst.  I'm Mean Mommy every day it seems. No matter how much I don't want to be.

Original DC Metro Moms post.  Victoria blogs daily about trying not to feel like Joan Crawford over at her blog, The Mummy Chronicles.