I do not know WHAT the hell is going on at the moment, but I’m pretty sure both Noah and Isaac have PMT.
Or, they’re slowly turning into women.
Or, Jesus SAVE ME NOW, they’re going through puberty already.
I can deal with tantrums and sulky strops and whatever with the best of them. To be fair, neither of them have sulky strops very often, and I can’t remember the last tantrum in this house; it was easily over a year ago.
However. There is a new breed of What The Fuckadoo circulating at the moment, and it seems to involve someone flipping some kind of invisible switch. I was aware of this switch, to be honest. I knew it existed. But what I didn’t see coming, was the speed AND extremities with which that switch could be flipped.
Example. They’re playing on the floor with Lego and a train. Noah is lying in the way, Isaac politely says “excuse me”, and Noah pretty much ignores him, refusing to move. I ask Noah to move, quite sternly, since he’s being so rude. He moves, and then starts crying, really loudly. Isaac carries on playing. I ask Noah what’s wrong and he doesn’t even know.
Umm….say what now?
I tell Noah to stop crying otherwise he’ll go in time out, and if he STILL keeps on going, he’ll go straight to bed. He stops immediately, and then less than 10 seconds later he’s laughing and joking over some music he heard which was his favourite part from a film.
Tear tracks still fresh on his face.
What the ever-living fuck.
As this is one example of about a frillion, from the last 2 or 3 hours alone, I’m sitting here wondering if I ever had PMT as bad as what I’m observing. I don’t think I ever did, but holy crap do I apologise to anyone who was ever on the receiving end. I’m thinking of going into that spiel about toddlers, and kids, and this is what they do, and blah blah it gets worse (or better, fuck only knows at this stage), but I’m sure I gave birth to 2 boys who had no plans on turning into girls.
I guess, and quite fairly, I have to consider certain affecting facts. Like, the imminent Christmas Day Excitement, the hideous dark mornings and evenings, slight disruptions to school with Nativities and parties, the fact that the grass is short, a cat meowed, one of them sniffed, and of course the most important, there’s a number in today’s date.
The closer it gets to the Christmas holidays, I find my train of thoughts flickering wildly. Originally, I was all “HELL YES. They will wake up, I’ll send them downstairs to get muesli snackbars out of the cupboard for breakfast, they can pour themselves some milk from the fridge (doesn’t matter if they spill; it’s a tiled floor and will mop right up) and then they can play with their toys or come watch films on the iPad while I continue to dose until, ideally, 11:30am.”
INSTEAD, I am now thinking “Please God, let them be allowed to go through school all through the holidays and ideally in the evenings and then have someone bring them home and hand them to me for a kiss and cuddle and then someone else put them to bed.”
I’m happy with both of those options.
I don’t reckon I’ll get either of those options.