Wednesday, August 25, 2010

That little BITCH!!!

My three year old is a little bitch.  I am not saying this to be funny.  This is not something I am proud of.  But she is. 

I have noticed her talking back and demanding things for some time now.  For the most part, I stay calm and basically explain that 1) There is NO WAY I am going to give her what she wants if she is going to be a brat about it, and 2) Just because she decides to ask again, with the sad eyes and a whiney voice and gives me a great big "PLEEEEEEEEASE" doesn't mean she will get what she wants.  This method is not working. 

Lila is turning into a total bitch.  When I am driving somewhere she wants to go and I (God Forbid) stop at a red light, she sees it as her place to yell "GO MOMMY!" at the top of her lungs, as if I am just trying to keep her from having a good time.  Time after time I turn around and tell her "I am the driver.  I am the Mommy.  I decide when to go."  This method is not working.

I (half) jokingly told her father that she was getting to that age where I should strap her to the couch and play Mommie Dearest for her so she could see what happens when mommies are pushed to their emotional limits and they think their kids are ingrateful little brats. (Of course, I realize that this is not the intended moral of the movie, but in light of the fact that time-outs are a joke and she doesn't care when I take things away or with -hold treats, I think it may work as an effective tool in scaring the sass out of my kid).

Yesterday we went to Wal-Mart (I will not digress into how much I hate Wal-Mart and everything it stands for and everyone in it) and we were trying to hurry.  First there was the hissy fit when I said we couldn't buy a $40 Play-Doh set.  Then there was the refusing to hold my hand and running off.  Then there was the refusal to leave.  I kept cool.  There was NO WAY I was going to be that trashy mother yelling at her kid in the shampoo aisle at the Wal Mart.  When we finally got out to the car, she insisted on climbing into her car seat herself.  And I thought, "she's three...she needs to feel like she can do it herself," even though I was in a hurry to get to the bank before it closed.  She got into the seat and I started to buckle her in and she said, "I wanna do it."  "No baby," I replied.  This is pretty hard to do and I just want to get out of here, okay?"  The response she gave me took me off guard at first:


I felt the surging desire to slap her little mouth like my mother would do when I got overly sassy.  I wanted to...I really, for about half a second thought that it would be the best thing I could do...Maybe it was just the fact that I was in the Wal Mart parking lot, but I felt like swearing at her at the top of my lungs and slapping her.

But I didn't.  I put my hands on both sides of her face so she was looking right at me and said, as lovingly as I could at that moment, "If you talk to me like that again, I will slap your little sassy mouth."  Perhaps threatening isn't much better than the actual thing, but she sure was quiet on the ride home.  I almost think that THIS method may have worked. 

For the record, I have never hit her.  Never spanked or slapped or grabbed her roughly by the arm (or ear).  I have a good handle on my temper and I know I would never forgive myself.  But there are times when I can see myself doing it, in my mind, clear as day, and I wonder if perhaps spanking couldn't work on certain types of kids (the crazy ones).   Because as much as I want Lila to be an independent and happy kid, I want her to be respectful and polite just as much.  Not just because it makes ME insane, but because she needs to know that you have to be courteous and nice to function in a society with other people.

If I were to be completely honest, I would have to admit that she probably gets the attitude from me.  I raise my voice a lot.  And I find myself saying those dreaded words that every parent swears they will never say: 

"Because I'm the MOMMY, that's why."

And for now, that's the only thing that kid needs to understand.  Because being a super bitch in our house is MY job.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Stupid Paper Plates

Whoever came up with the Zoo Pals commercial jingle should be stabbed and then set on fire.  It may sound a little extreme, but I mean it.

If you are not familiar with Zoo Pals, watch this:
Zoo Pals Commercial

Because my kid watches more tv than any 3-year-old really should (mostly because she doesn't let me out of her sight unless she is enjoying one of her favorite shows), she sees this commercial during every kids show she watches. Then she yells for me to rewind it over and over and over so that she can sing along to it.  Then she spends the rest of the day either singing the song or begging me to get her Zoo Pals plates.

We went to the grocery store yesterday and somehow she spotted them from the other end of the aisle.  I was ready to give in and buy them until I saw them.  They are paper plates that come in a pack of 20 for $3.99.  They are not plastic, nor are they stiff styrofoam plates.  They are PAPER plates.  Sitting next to the stack of Zoo Pals plates was a giant pack of regular paper plates that stated on the package in giant lettering, "200 for $1.99!!!  WOW!!!!"  I said NO. 

Now Lila is refusing to use ANY of the plates we have in the house explaining that "THIS PLATE does not make eating fun."  I will likely give in and just buy the stupid plates.  But every day I send telepathic messages of scorn at those fucking advertising bastards.

Monday, August 16, 2010

I'm just going to say it...

I seriously couldn't care less if i ever have sex again.

Ben is not happy to hear this.  Like most people, he views regular, satisfying sex as an important part of a good, healthy, long-term relationship.  Me?  Not so much.

For the first year of Lila's life, it was obvious why I was never even remotely in the mood.  Having an infant that never sleeps, that demands constant attention, and that gets cuddled all day pretty much leaves NOTHING left for anyone else.  During her second year, we faced serious financial issues, moved back to New York State (into an apartment about 1/3 the size of our old house) and we let the stress cause us to just "not particularly like" eachother.

But now, things are settling down.  We are both working steadily.  Lila, although still crazy and demanding is old enough to understand that just because I don't hold her every minute, that doesn't mean I don't love her.  Although Lila still wakes us up at least 3 times a week, it is getting better and we are getting more sleep.  And yet, I still don't care to get naked.

Part of this is the way being a mother has changed my body.  To be frank, I am fatter than I was before.  This is not the result of pregnancy weight that I can't get rid of...the anxiety that I had during my Post-partum Depression caused me not to eat a lot and so 6 months after I was back to my pre-pregnancy weight.  The way my body stores fat has changed.  No longer does it go into my boobs first (which was a serious blessing in my twenties because up to that point I was an A-cup), or even into my butt (which although not exactly thrilling, is somthing that plenty of rappers seem to think is sexy).  I have developed a GUT.  I have a big belly now.  One of my 11-year-old neighbors asked me if Lila was getting a brother or sister a few days ago...And there is nothing, anywhere that is going to convince me that when I take off my clothes and that thing flops out, that it is anything but kind of gross to look at.  Hell, I won't even look at it.  I have gotten to the point where I often shop at the "big girls" stores.  And just a few short years ago, before my pregnancy, I was a size 6.  I have never cared about how my body looked and used to roll my eyes when girls in school complained about being heavy, so for me to be so self-conscious about myself is completely foreign to me.  I thought I would always love my body, no matter what it looked like.  But I suppose it's easy to feel that way when you have the kind of body everyone wants. Maybe I am being punished for not being more sympathetic back then.

There is another component to this though.  Besides feeling totally and completely PHYSICALLY unsexy, I also psychologically feel un-sexy.  My daughter is 3 years old.  Right now, the entire universe revolves around her.  I am Mommy all day, every day, even when I am at work.  None of the kids in the neighborhood know my name.  I don't know if half of the adults do.  Everyone knows me as "Lila's Mommy".  That's my official name and position right now.  And although logically I KNOW that this is bullshit, I still FEEL that Mommy's are not supposed to be into sex...Unless, of course, they want to be "Mommy" to yet another person, which brings me to my next issue.

I am terrified of getting pregnant again.  If I had known in my teenage years what I know now, I would have stayed a virgin until marriage.  Having what we nicely refer to as "a difficult" child, I have sworn off ever reproducing again.  Not only do I know that I would never survive if I had a second child with anything remotely like Lila's first-year scream fests, but I don't think society at large needs that either.  I know the liklihood of having two kids with the same temperment is unlikely.  I also know that I can use birth-control.  But I got pregnant the first time while using birth control, so I am not one of the faithful practitioners.

I have this friend who unexpectantly got pregnant less than 6 months after her first baby.  Then it turned out it was going to be twins.  Then the twins came 3 months early.  Are you doing the math?  That's THREE kids in a year.  Although this makes me think that any possible combination I could have wouldnt be as bad as that, the prospect of having THREE of them running around is enough to make me want to take some roofies to forget the thought of it.  Twins run on both sides of my family.

But the honest to God truth of the matter is that I just don't care.  On my list of things to do today, getting sexy and losing a half hour (or more) of sleep to sex just doesn't seem like a great idea for me.  I can pretend there is some deep-seated psychological issue at hand, but my libido just isn't there.  And it isn't there for fantasy and it isn't there for "alone time".  It just isn't something I care much about these days.

I remember in my twenties when I wanted to jump on any hot tattooed fella who winked at me but those days are long gone.  Now the only people winking at me are dirty old men.  I have heard about how the thirties are supposed to be the horniest time in a woman's life.  I have heard all about Cougars.  And I just wonder "where do you find the energy?"  Am I missing something?