Battle of the Wills

I wish I had a funny story to share. Something that will make all of us (ok, maybe, me) happy and glowing about having a beautiful smart daughter.  But no.  This is not one of those. This one of those that will go under Pull Your Hair Out!!  And wordpress has informed me that I already have a post titles Battle of the Wills.  I feel bad that she has to adjust to a new daycare, and has no priends.  We felt so bad that the anxiety she is giving herself about going there each day has made her sick, that we wanted to cheer her up by taking her to the zoo on Sunday.  So we pack ourselves in the car. The GPS takes us on this round about way, and we are the Grand Central Parkway with no obvious exit, when Bertha (the GPS) cooly informs us, “Your Destination is on the left”. I mean, we are on the highway.  There is no zoo entrance there.  Anyway, we somehow manage to faff around Flushing Meadows park, sneak our way into the parking lot without paying (totally unintentional) but completely necessary. The signs for the Queens Zoo parking were lacking to say the least.  I think at some point we drove on some areas that were probably not open for traffic.  Anyway, we get there. We look at some animals, and after three minutes, she loses interest.   We through this great Aviary, where the parrots’ wings are almost touching your head as they fly above. Did O care for such wonders? Nope!  Mommy, I wanna go home and watch Abby! Are you freaking kidding me?? We spent $12 to go to the zoo, to run through it, spent 1 hour getting there, 1 hour walking around the zoo, and that was it. We couldn’t even go to the petting zoo because she became such a nightmare!  I no want this!  I want to walk. No I want to be in stroller. I no wanna be in stroller.  NIGHTMARE! We get home, I don’t put Abby on just because her behavior was so bad. Does she sleep?  NO.

The battles just continue. She demands that I sit on the chair outside her room.  If god forbid I need to go to the bathroom while waiting for her highness to fall asleep, there is some shit hitting the rhetorical fan.  She won’t listen to the fact that I will be back. Last night it escalated to the point that I had to actually take her out of her bed and put her in time out. She proceed to pay us back with screams like you have never heard before.  We both asked her to calm down and then I will come sit on the chair.  It was 20 minutes of screams.  Finally she calmed down.  We put her in bed, and like 10 minutes later, she did the biggest projectile vomit from her bed that you have ever seen. I don’t know if she is sick or she worked herself up in such a tizzy that she made herself ill.

This was the 2nd night of vomit.  The night before her tummy truly hurt.  But last night, it was just unexplainable.  My friend told me that when she was little she would make herself throw up if her mom wasn’t paying enough attention to her.  God I hope that’s not the case. Or maybe O has outgrown drinking 3 bottles of milk each night.  Too much milk making her ill.

DH says that when O and I are arguing, we sound like two sisters fighting. Yeah, that’s not good.  I think what makes it really hard, is that I don’t know how to react when she does something that clearly upsets me, and then she says, Sorry, mommy. And if you don’t acknowledge her apology, she says, Mommy, I say sorry to you!  What do you say? Don’t you have to say, OK. But I know that either she doesn’t mean it or she knows it will get her out of whatever trouble she’s in.  I keep telling her, Thank you, but instead of saying sorry all the time, you should just listen to mommy. Or stop doing whatever it was that got her in trouble in the first place.

I know she is going though a very difficult time right now.  With no more TV during the day, and a new preschool, I know it’s been hard. I am trying to be understanding. We are watching a lot of Peppa Pig when she gets home.  But being disrespectful and just not listening is never OK.  I have only 1 more month to go before she goes on vacation and 4 more months of the Terrible Twos.  Threes can’t be as bad.  Or can they?


About RidgewoodMom

Thirtysomething mom of a baby girl. First and only baby, possibly. First baby amongst my close friends. These are the trials, frustrations and lessons I have learned in raising a single child in New York.
This entry was posted in Running away to Patagonia, Terrible Twos with a Vengeance. Bookmark the permalink.

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