Buyer's Remorse
The Canuck and I have a running joke about the baby store – you know, the establishment where you buy babies. Did the baby store sell us a defective model? Will they let us exchange for a puppy? Will they still let us take the baby back after 14 days?
Lately I’ve been hoping that the baby store has a very lenient return policy. I may have to summon the manager if they won’t take this almost 16-month-old purchase back.
I wish it could be all thunderous burps and poop catastrophes, but lately Muffin has been a pill. She does not play nicely and obey her parents as advertised.
We had a tough weekend. Muffin went on a nap strike, sleeping only about an hour each day, when normally she sleeps 3 or even 4. My days were largely spent doing up all the things she’d undone. Spices are Muffin’s new obsession, and she cannot resist the spice drawer’s siren call, no matter how I beg and plead. Putting my spice rack back together 7 times in one day does not make for a relaxing, rejuvenating weekend.
My frustration came to a head on Sunday night. The Canuck went to hockey, which, of course, he had to; it’s his Canadian citizenship at stake. Muffin’s evening was spent flinging cottage cheese on to the rug, dropping zucchini fries over the side of her highchair one by one (and nodding no to me each time), freaking out in the bath because she wanted those bubbles, not these stupid bubbles, running away from me while I tried to wrestle her to the ground to get a diaper on, exploring the smelly contents of the garbage, throwing a tantrum because I won’t let her climb into the freezer, knocking the lamp I have told her in a stern voice not to touch, and turning the volume all the way up on the stereo.
In desperation, we ended up watching Baby Einstein twice in a row. While we watched, I sobbed. I cried because I know she understands "no," but I somehow lack the authority to make her respect it. I cried because I might be one of those moms who needs Supernanny. I cried because I knew she was feeding off my mood. I cried because I was sending her to bed with almost no dinner, all Oliver!-like, which seemed appropriate given that she’d flung every last bit of it on the floor, but still. I cried because I am so hair-trigger impatient. Mostly I cried because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and I’m scared I’m raising a brat.
And you know what Muffin did?
She laughed at me.
Now, she’s a baby, I know. She’s too young for empathy. But the whole evening could have been turned around by one of those made-for-TV moments, where she gives me a hug, or pops her pacifier in my mouth.
I put her to bed, steaming mad. It’s an awful feeling to be angry at a little baby. I sank into the couch and felt very, very small.
The next day things were better. The Canuck took her to the doctor, who told him all of her behavior was completely normal, and that the best way to deal with it was to encourage her vocabulary. She said to forget the discipline for now, and just get through it. When I came home from work, Muffin reached for my hand and we made loops around the apartment, just two girls taking a stroll.
I think I’ll keep her…for now.
Lately I’ve been hoping that the baby store has a very lenient return policy. I may have to summon the manager if they won’t take this almost 16-month-old purchase back.
I wish it could be all thunderous burps and poop catastrophes, but lately Muffin has been a pill. She does not play nicely and obey her parents as advertised.
We had a tough weekend. Muffin went on a nap strike, sleeping only about an hour each day, when normally she sleeps 3 or even 4. My days were largely spent doing up all the things she’d undone. Spices are Muffin’s new obsession, and she cannot resist the spice drawer’s siren call, no matter how I beg and plead. Putting my spice rack back together 7 times in one day does not make for a relaxing, rejuvenating weekend.
My frustration came to a head on Sunday night. The Canuck went to hockey, which, of course, he had to; it’s his Canadian citizenship at stake. Muffin’s evening was spent flinging cottage cheese on to the rug, dropping zucchini fries over the side of her highchair one by one (and nodding no to me each time), freaking out in the bath because she wanted those bubbles, not these stupid bubbles, running away from me while I tried to wrestle her to the ground to get a diaper on, exploring the smelly contents of the garbage, throwing a tantrum because I won’t let her climb into the freezer, knocking the lamp I have told her in a stern voice not to touch, and turning the volume all the way up on the stereo.
In desperation, we ended up watching Baby Einstein twice in a row. While we watched, I sobbed. I cried because I know she understands "no," but I somehow lack the authority to make her respect it. I cried because I might be one of those moms who needs Supernanny. I cried because I knew she was feeding off my mood. I cried because I was sending her to bed with almost no dinner, all Oliver!-like, which seemed appropriate given that she’d flung every last bit of it on the floor, but still. I cried because I am so hair-trigger impatient. Mostly I cried because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and I’m scared I’m raising a brat.
And you know what Muffin did?
She laughed at me.
Now, she’s a baby, I know. She’s too young for empathy. But the whole evening could have been turned around by one of those made-for-TV moments, where she gives me a hug, or pops her pacifier in my mouth.
I put her to bed, steaming mad. It’s an awful feeling to be angry at a little baby. I sank into the couch and felt very, very small.
The next day things were better. The Canuck took her to the doctor, who told him all of her behavior was completely normal, and that the best way to deal with it was to encourage her vocabulary. She said to forget the discipline for now, and just get through it. When I came home from work, Muffin reached for my hand and we made loops around the apartment, just two girls taking a stroll.
I think I’ll keep her…for now.
posted by Muffin's Mom at 6:23 PM
8 Comments:
The apple does not fall far from the tree!
Oh dearie...I am sorry I laughed at how mad it was in your household. Believe me, it is also quite funny (in a ha ha kind of way)...
But I also emphatise in how tricky it must have been for you.
BIG BIG hugs.
Nx
p.s Now I am already worried for what is yet to come...oh dear, I am counting the months already!!
I know it must be frustrating, but you are doing a fabulous job. Never forget that! S
What a tough day! I would have felt the same way you did. All I know, is that you did your best, and you deserve a bottle of champagne for how great a mom you are. AJ
um... did you switch my daughter with yours last night? Because if you swap out a flicked spoon for the zucchini fries, a rotating fan blade for the freezer, and her bookshelf stacked four feet high with the spice rack, I think we're talking about the same kid.
Ah, one other thing: It was Sesame Street, not Baby Einstein. Get it straight!
I'm showing frustration over the fact that she's not spooning her food straight to her mouth (and responding, "my, father, this is a particularly delectable presentation of a smorgasbord this evening!"), as well as several other things. But we lost our return receipt, so I guess we have to keep her. :)
Our 15 month old is what we call our temper tantrum baby (mind you, he is our only child as of yet). That is beside the point. He has fits whenever we take something away or when he can't get his point across to us (your doctor's advice makes a lot of sense to me).
I remember when he was first born I swore he wasn't going to watch TV...amazingly, this summer Baby Einstein has been in at least 4 times a week, and I don't seem to hesitate at hitting repeat play as I did 4 months ago.
Hang in there and remember, the only way to make the tantrums stop (whenever that may be) is by not giving in to Muffin. Be strong and know you are not alone!
A's Mom
gosh, i am nervous now about motherhood! but reading your blog and N's blog are good learning points ofr me. better than the pregnancy/ motherhood books on the shelves of Borders!
Hi Inconditus:
Don't let me scare you. Believe me, the good far, far outweighs the bad!
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