He had whined and demanded oatmeal the whole time we were getting dressed. I mostly ignored, reworded, and redirected. By the time we got downstairs I finally got a straight “May hab O-meal for brekist peeze?” out of him. (We’re working on manners and asking polite questions. I must say ” ‘I want’ is not a question.” 382,937 times a day.) He asked so nicely, so I started up a pot. For a while he was at my feet, waiting impatiently as the oats cooked. By the time the timer went off, he had gone into the playroom and I could hear him driving his trains.
“Buddy! You oatmeal is almost ready!”
“NO EAT O-MEAL. EAT EGGIES.”
!%$(#%&*$@)#$%#!!!1!!!!one!!1
Kid. You whined about oatmeal from the moment you woke up this morning, you threw a partial fit that it was taking so long to cook, and now, NOW that it’s ready, you change your ever-loving mind?!?!
Hold me, friends.
**edited to add: I, of course, did not serve him anything but oatmeal that morning (a spine, I haz one), it’s just an example of how every.single.thing. that comes out of my mouth is met with conflict.**
It seems like every statement I make to my sweet little two and a half year old is rebutted. I wish I were exaggerating. “That’s hard, huh?” “No. Dat soft.” “Careful, Bud. It’s hot, so blow on it.” “It not hot. It cold.” “I need you to sit down on your bottom.” “Not sit down my bottom.” ”OBoy, you’re such a big boy.” “My not big boy, my baby.”
Really?
As if repeating every direction I give 4x wasn’t enough, I’m now having to defend my most obvious assertions. (Can you tell that this is getting under my skin justalittlebit?) And really, I’m at a loss as to a strategy. I’m not about to start a “yes huh.” “nuh huh.” battle with the kid, but I also don’t think that it should just be ignored (or should it?).
I can’t tell if all this retorting is coming from a place of being funny, of testing boundaries, or at times, of defiance, and I feel like his motivation in the matter is the biggest deciding factor on how to parent is why he’s doing it. It happens in pretty much any situation, not just when he’s being given direction or is tired/cranky/hungry/groggy. It happens at perfectly wonderful, blissful moments at the lunch table over PB&Js.
Do I defend myself? Do I ignore? Do I discipline? Do I come up with a script? (As I do with whining. The only thing I ever say in response to whining is “I don’t hear whiny voices, I only hear big nice ones. Works like a CHARM.)
You guys. I can’t even enjoy conversations with my kiddo anymore. It’s exhausting and as a result I am absolutely up to my eyebrows with him by 7:00pm. Siiiiiiiiiiigh.
:: :: :: Let’s chat. :: :: ::
What would you do if your kiddo were constantly contrary?
What positively tiring phases of parenthood have you survived?
Can we give each other shoulder rubs? I’m exhausted.
