It was inevitable that I would have to be a "single parent" for a few days while my hubby traveled. In my happy unicorn wonderland though, I figured it wouldn't be until my boys turned 10, which would obviously mean that they were potty trained and semi-rational, right? Wrong. Off hubby went into the wild blue yonder (Chicago), for approximately two mornings and three evenings. I say this because those are the critical times when being outnumbered by tiny humans could prove to be problematic.
I know that my approximately 72 hours of single motherhood doesn't compare to the millions of women whose reality is solo parenting. I don't think I'm as strong as you all are, or maybe its because I don't have to be. My life, my happy bubble has been carefully designed for two parents to share the workload of potty training, sheet changing, tooth brushing, diaper changing, pump part washing, transporting and feeding. When one of those parents isn't present, I can feel a shift in the matrix and suddenly my world is imbalanced.
This all came to a head yesterday morning when mommy lost her shit. Our mornings are usually a delicate dance of timing and partnership, with a side of pumping and nursing, which essentially puts me out of commission for approximately 40 minutes. This normally isn't an issue, since my husband is around to wrangle while I'm attached to a baby or to a pump, meaning we are getting double the morning "chores" done in the same amount of time. Yesterday morning though, after pumping and feeding and dressing my tiniest human, it was time to get the larger, louder, smellier one out of bed. As soon as he woke up, he was hell bent on doing the opposite of what I asked or told him to do. It started with waking up, then potty, then teeth, then underwear, then clothes. Finally, as I was trying unsuccessfully to wrestle him into a pair of Paw Patrol Underwear (because he wanted Mickey, duh), I lost it. I looked at my crying, squirming, fighting three-year old and screamed at him to stop it. It shocked him for a moment before he continued on his rampage, ranting about his underwear and refusing to put on shorts. After I realized what I had done, I quickly put myself in time out, giving us both time to calm down and try again.
Somehow, we managed to calm down enough to continue getting dressed and get out the door (no playtime, no backpack, no shoes and no breakfast) and move on from the morning ordeal. It was a quiet ride to the sitter's house, since we were both pissed. I took the time to reflect on my outburst and feel extremely guilty that I lost it, but very happy that I didn't rethink my stance on spanking.
However, that evening, something happened. I found my mojo. My rational brain kicked in and determined that my tiny human just needed to run out his energy. The early darkness had kicked off an unfortunate chain of events that went something like this: Tiny human doesn't get to play outside, so tiny human plays inside. Playing inside means that you can't run around like a fool to burn off your energy, so when its time for bed, tiny human isn't tired. Instead of going to bed and falling asleep, tiny human fights and fights, escaping from bed several time. FINALLY, the tiny human falls asleep...way too late, meaning that waking said human up in the morning is IMPOSSIBLE and AWFUL, kicking off a crazy ass morning of shit losing and fighting.
So. I decided to take matters into my own hands. I picked them up from the sitter and headed off to Burger King for dinner. Burger King was chosen only because our restaurant has a play land, complete with tunnels and a slide and a place to climb. After we ate dinner, we headed into the germ infested wonderland and woah was B pleased. He climbed and slid and climbed some more. When it was time to leave, he didn't fight me (ok honestly, I bribed him with a cookie). We got home and had a successful evening, which led us to a pleasant morning.
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