What’s that I see approaching on the horizon? Ah yes. . . that’ll be my wit’s end, and I’m nearly at it. Fellow parents, friends and followers, mothers of the world: HELP!
I have blogged about tantrums before. The time we trashed the craft shop springs to mind. But untill recently, they were the exception; not the norm. The balance is now shifting. Several times this week I have had to leave the room and take a few deep breaths to calm down. It’s tantrums a-go-go in the Waterbirth Please household and the upshot of the past week has been the utter conviction that:
I must be a bad Mum. I must have gone wrong somewhere.
Friends re-assure me that their own kids are just the same, that it’s the terrible twos etc, but I’m just not seeing it their toddlers like I am with Gibby. Nothing I do is right with her – nothing.
She brings me shoes and sticks her foot out, crying for them to be put on. I try to put them on. “No, no NOOOOOOOOO” she screams pulling them off and throwing them. I crouch down to her level and put on my serious voice.
“No throwing.” I say with conviction, and take the shoes away.
This not only results in screaming and stamping that could measure on the Richter scale, but usually ends up with a “No hitting Mummy Grace.”
I then walk away and leave her to her hissy fit. It’s very hard. After she is eventually calm, it’s a matter of minutes before it all starts again. Whether it’s shoes, clothes, food, play, it would appear that anything inflicted on her by Mummy is a justifiable trigger for world war 3.
I don’t know what to do. Maybe we’ve just had a bad few days but it’s wearing me down.
I looked forward so much to picking her up from the childminder’s today (I always do when I’ve been at work.) I am greeted with beaming smiles, showing me her Autumn collage, and I hear all about what an angel she’s been all day, and all the cute things she’s done. I scoop her up proudly and give her a big kiss.
Within minutes of being in the car it begins . . .
“Mummy’s driving, Grace. I will put bobble back in when we get home.”
Kick, kick, kick, thrash, thrash, thrash.
It’s heartbreaking that the Childminder is having more fun with my daughter than me, and there was no letting up with this horrible new behaviour when we arrived home.
So today, for the first time, I tried to implement the naughty step. This involved about 20 minutes (felt like hours) of desperate screaming and making herself stiff as a board, refusing to say sorry, and lashing out. On yet another attempt to walk away from her, she threw herself off the step so violently she banged her head on the tiled floor. There’s no way I could leave her after such a whack.
Bye bye naughty step, hello guilt.
Come on Gibby, help me out here and give Mummy a break.
Suggestios anyone? Where the hell have I gone wrong?