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Who do you put on the naughty step me or him?

This has been my dilemma for the last few days. Is it this terrible toddler monster behaviour or is it it the terrible monster mothers inability to cope with toddler behaviour? Yep I’m having a “bad” few days.

Mummy melt down number one occurs when monster bird child is stood sweetly eating a mini tub of sunflower and pumpkin seeds. Oh no, they are all over the floor. Tried to engage the terror in picking them up, Pahaha! No chance he just launches the tub at my head! Nice one. Encouragement turns to pleading “help me pick them up pleeeeease!”, terror is sat there like “it’s way too much fun watching you do it!”. Threaten the naughty corner for not listening/helping what ever is the failed minion is guilty of, sod it he thinks, ‘I’ll volunteer to sit there rather than pick up this mess’ and off he goes behind the sofa. Bloody excellent, I’ll get the hoover.

How’d you get him off the naughty corner? “Come and give me a hug please?” Queue frantic toddler dash to the kitchen to empty the snack cupboard, er that’s not a cuddle, back you go. “Come and give me a cuddle please” nope, he’s launched a missile attack of hoover attachments from the other side of the sofa. Dyson removed, child sat back down. He’s probably forgotten why he’s there in the first place, but I have “don’t give in, he’ll think you’re a push over” being whispered in my head. After 3 more attempts eventually he releases a cuddle, I’ve already tidied his mess. Then he gives me a kiss and this whole palaver is forgotten about.

Dealing with this is just a normal part of a toddlers day to day life, but when you have your head in a dark thundery cloud is much harder. Today in the local supermarket a lady with a blissful newborn smiled at me, I thought I smiled back but face didn’t move. Shit. I keep telling myself I’ll go to the GP, so I went to the GP last week with my yearly list of woes. I bravely thought I’d slotted in the words “I’m having difficulty with my moods” but that fell on deaf ears. In my head there, I’ve been, I told the GP and he wasn’t worried. I’ll sort it myself.

So here I am dealing with it. Four days of grumpy me, verging on crying, trying to think of ways to make it up to monster, no motivation what so ever, being shattered but still marching further down shit street every hour. Today I admitted to myself I’d been dragged into the hole (see illustration if I can figure out how to put one in!) and it’s time to climb out. I don’t question how, it just happens. Perhaps chocolate will help.

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