Sometimes, being R’s mom means I feel all warm and gushy inside, like I’m sitting in front of the fireplace in my favorite Eddie Bauer sweats, drinking raspberry hot cocoa and flipping through back issues of Cooking Light.
Sometimes, being R’s mom means I feel all frozen and tied-up inside, like one false move will snap the rubber bands that keep the anger and the tears caged up and I will spew icy contempt and bee-yotch backhands all over the world.
More often than not, it’s in between the two extremes – kinda tepid but not totally unpleasant.
Sure she pooped in her pants again three times yesterday, but none of the accidents required a total outfit revamp – just the panties. (I’m sure she’s going to love reading this someday). And sure she refuses to sit in her chair at dinner properly and is constantly getting her foot stuck in the chairback leading to tears and tantrums, but she also repeatedly enjoins me to dance with her to Hip Hop Harry, and what could be more fun than doing the Cabbage Patch and Running Man along with a giant, rapping, neon yellow bear and your 2-year-old?
The highs seem to even out the lows. We had a week of what seemed like constant defiance and aggression. But now we are in cease-fire status, with cooperation, friendliness and genuine affection the themes of the day.
I spend so little time with her each day, I am loathe to waste it on chores like folding laundry and cooking dinner. I’d much rather play with her Sweet Streets (damn you Fisher Price for discontinuing that line!!) or care for my Farm on Facebook (she loves to harvest the fruit trees!).
Saturday was her holiday program at day care, and seeing her up there, little construction paper reindeer antlers on her head as she sang “Nine Little Reindeer” and I thought I only have 15 years left with her under my roof. And I am going to make the most of those 15 years.