Thursday, October 12, 2006

When the voices in my head start screaming out loud

I am THIS CLOSE to throwing Jaxson out the window, onto the bed of a passing truck, and flashing the deuce that I should not even be sitting here writing this to you; I should be delivering him to a neighbor or family member for safe keeping. (For those CPS spies out there -- yes, I am joking. Kind of.)

Bless his whiny little heart, I know his teeth are hurting, I know he's dealing with communications issues, but how does screaming, slapping, kicking, and bursting into flames solve anything? Where oh where could he have developed these non-sensical methods of blowing off steam?


Big surprise. I'm sure I'm to blame, I'm sure I'm getting my due justice and all that jazz, but when is it Shawn's turn to be at fault? When does he get to reap the benefits of the seeds he's sewn? That's all I'm askin', just a little equal division of punishment, kids; a little something to take the edge off of this mind-numbing, red-hot poker they have collectively shoved into my brain.

Another thing -- if Jax hates being around me, which clearly he must (how many gestures of love include hair-pulling, boobie-squeezing and body biting? Wait -- don't answer that, I don't want to know), why does he insist on following me everywhere I go? HOW CAN I ESCAPE????

I keep hoping that one day soon his grunts and screams will turn into words and we can both sit down and have a level-headed conversation about appropriate behavior, boundaries, etc. I feel certain that once he sees things from my point of view, he'll understand my requests and happily oblige.

And then we will hug and dance with the fairies at dusk.

What happened to the figurative "magic hour" in a male's life -- when he begins as a boy, craving his mother's arms, expressing his love with kisses and hugs. How have we gone straight from the birth canal to an angry, raging man in 18 mo old clothes? I'd be pissed, too! What is up with the roughness? And the impatience? And the resistance to any type of PDA? Where is my little boy? Who is this man-child, and shouldn't Shawn be in charge of this one? I handled the girl, that's my area. I've never wielded the Y chromosome, I don't ride waves of testoterone -- why give this crazy puzzle to the one with the least clues? WHY???

God, I need a beer.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

You kill say what I think, and I appreciate your honesty. Thanks for the nice email about my melt-down. Things are looking far as my kiddoes: God made them cute so I would not KILL them!!
Love you, Mama--I'll sit and have a margarita while you chug a beer. :)