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3 years old
Category

  • Don’t Make Me Look Bad!

    Having a kid is like having a reflection of you running around out there in the world.  A tiny mirror covered in stains that you essentially have little control over, unless you have them muzzled and on a leash… or constrained in one of those Hannibal Lector masks while strapped to a full body stretcher- but that might be taking it a little far.

    Every person who comes into contact with your kid, not only judges them mercilessly, but they also judge the shit out of you.  Whenever The Munch acts like a prick in front of other people I want to say to her “Munch… don’t you know how bad you are making me look? Doesn’t that matter to you more than crying because I won’t put your underwear back on that has a poo stain from a wet fart?”

    Of course you can discipline your kid and try to keep them in line when they are in public, but you can’t anticipate their every move, and sometimes they do shit that embarrasses the shit out of you.  And then everyone you are around is not only silently ripping apart your kid in their head, but also what a crappy parent you are.  Sure, out loud they say “awww they are just being a kid,” but in their mind they are saying “your brat is a dick hole and you are a shitty ass parent.”  I only know this because this goes through my head all the time, so don’t even think of trying to deny it.

    Your kid’s behavior can be just as humiliating as your own, but without the feeling of satisfaction you get from acting out yourself.  At least when I embarrass myself there is that release and catharsis that comes from being taboo.  But I can be acting perfectly civilized while The Munch throws her baby because her feet got sandy at the beach.  Maybe that Hannibal Lecter thing isn’t such a bad idea.

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    July 9, 2013 • 3 years old • Views: 8340

  • Get Me!

    Kids love to be chased.  I think it taps into a primal memory of living in the wild and running from ravenous animals ready to devour your tender flesh.  That cellular recollection is implanted into our psyches, and The Munch seems to crave the unique rush of being chased.  Because even if there is no real danger, that feeling of running away from something running after you still provides a blast of adrenalin.  And if you don’t believe me, next time someone is walking up the stairs in front of you, start chasing them.  I guarantee they will run faster away from you and giggle like a schoolgirl!

    Every time The Munch and I are outside, which is a fuck of a lot, she wants me to chase her around.  So I do what any normal person would do.  I run after her at a moderate pace and eventually catch up… But I let her think she is running fast enough so I can’t actually get her.  I do this because I am a good human.  I am not going to run my fastest after my 3-year old so I catch her in a few feet.  That would be psychotic.

    But I guess The Munch started to really believe that I could actually only run as fast as I was displaying to her.

    Munch: “Get me Mamma! Get me!”

    Toni: “Okay… I am going to get you.  I am coming to get you.”

    Munch: “You can’t run very fast can you Mamma?”

    Toni: “What? Are you kidding me?”

    Munch: “You run really slow.  You can’t run fast at all can you?

    Toni: “Listen Missy. I am an athlete.  I ran a marathon when I was 18.  Not only can I run fast, but I can run a hell of a lot faster than you!”

    Munch: “I don’t think you can.”

    So what did I do? I could have choked down my pride and continue to act like she was faster than me to maintain this façade of “chasing” so she could enjoy the rest of her childhood.  There is no reason for me to feel competitive because of a 3-year olds taunts.  I could have been the bigger person.  Or I could run fast as fuck and let The Munch know just how fast I am compared to her.  Because fuck you kid… nobody tells me I am not fast and I will crush you in a race.

    get-me-blog-(i)

     

    July 8, 2013 • 3 years old, Behavior, Parenting, Playing, Toddler Thoughts • Views: 803

  • Maybe My Kid Should Start Smoking

    So this whole weaning thing has been wayyyyyyyyy dramatic today.  I knew this was going to be the case, which was why I have avoided it for so long.  I feel as if I am seriously detoxing The Munch.  Like she has been addicted to my tit juice and now she is in a state of total withdrawal.

    When kids breastfeed oxytocin is released, which is considered the bonding hormone, or the “love” chemicals of our brain.  So literally your baby gets high as fuck on love.  No wonder The Munch is so attached to the process! It is like nursing reboots her operating system and she is shot up with the love drug.

    So taking that away from her is somewhat traumatizing.  Not only for the ritual that she has become accustomed to, but also because The Munch’s body chemistry is used to that love boost.  So to take that away from her is this serious crash to her eco system.  Beyond the fact that it makes her feel comforted, The Munch is having to adjust to a life of total sobriety.

    Munch spent most of the morning asking for to do “nana” and I kept trying to distract her with cake, lollipops, and letting her watch Mickey Mouse Club House.  I was letting her indulge in every decadence I usually keep her away from, but by the time it was 2pm she had 60 grams of sugar surging through her veins and her eyes were bleeding from staring at the computer screen for 2 hours.

    It was exactly naptime, which is the key time she would usually breastfeed to fall asleep, and that is where everything fell apart.

    Today was the second full day without “nana” and I endured one of the hardest parenting moments of my life.  Unlike if a guy were crying in my face because he wanted to suck on my boobs, I actually cared about Munch was going through.  Obviously breastfeeding a toddler is not just about nutrition or their immune systems, but there is a huge emotional component as well.  She wept as if she were in a genuine state of mourning.  The expression on her face was so tormented I couldn’t help but cry too.  There was something so pure and primal about her distress.  The Munch was in a genuine state of suffering, and I felt like nothing could console her.  She was grieving that she had to leave behind this very important part of her existence.  I tried to rationalize with Munch, but I was useless through my tears as I watched this creature I love sob with such passion.  So I held her and let her weep thinking that if she were every going to move forward, it would only be through confronting her pain completely.

    Munch: “Please Mamma, please!!! I want to do nana! PLEASE!”

    Toni: “Munch, Mamma’s nanas don’t work anymore.  They only work for 3 years, and now that you are 3, they don’t work!”

    Munch: “But please Mamma! Just one side!! Please!!!!!!!!!”

    Toni: “Munch, I can’t.  The nana gnomes came on your birthday and took my nanas away, and now they don’t work anymore.  The nana gnomes brought them to the new babies being born so they can have nana.”

    Munch: “But Mamma please!! I really want to do nana!! Please Mamma PLEASE!”

    Toni: “But listen Munch, the nana gnomes have planed a really big surprise for you. To celebrate the end of nana.  Tomorrow there are going to be fireworks in the sky just for you!  The are like giant fairies that explode in the sky!! And it is all for you! Because they are so happy that you don’t do nana anymore!”

    Munch: “But Mamma I really really really want to do nana! Please! And I want you to wear a dress.”

    Toni: “You want me to wear a dress?”

    Munch: “A pink dress and tights. And I really want to do nana!!” PLEASE MAMMA PLEASE!!

    This went on for a while.  Finally, after I thought my heart was going to crumble, The Munch decided she would eat some cake instead.  So I let her have her 3rd piece of the day, and then strapped her to my back to take a walk so she could sleep.  As she slept my friend Gita and I saw a bald eagle.

    Gita: “Maybe it is a sign that you are doing the right thing with Munch.”

    Toni: “Maybe it is a sign that America is becoming extinct since tomorrow is the 4th!”

    The afternoon with Munch was peaceful.  I am hoping that our moment was her final lamentation of what was, and she has moved on.  That she had fully face her sorrow in order to truly let go.  Of course Munch will probably be in her 20s and still think that fireworks are for the celebration of her no longer doing nana, but I am thinking that is okay.

    I wish I could have gotten my hands on some Kiddy Klonopin for The Munch, or maybe I should have gotten her into smoking to make this transition easier.

    weaning-blog-(i)

  • Growing Up is Poopie

    The Munch turned 3!

    This concept seems magical to her.  How she was this one number… that number being 2, and then after the second of July she is another number… the number 3.  She has been transformed from 2 to 3 like a numerical caterpillar, and The Munch is delighted by it.

    I remember the feeling of being absurdly excited about my birthday when I was a kid.  Beyond the presents, attention, and cake, the thought of aging was fascinating.  There was something thrilling about the next year -as if 8 would be drastically different than 7.  I was getting closer to something with each year I got older. What that something was exactly wasn’t clear, but the looming vision of growth compelled me.  Inching towards adulthood and becoming a person I didn’t know yet, but knew I was one day going to be.  I would try to picture myself as a grown up.  I would wonder how big my boobs would be or what job I would have, and that unknown vision of endless possibilities inspired me.

    Now that I am an adult, and pretty much know myself, birthday’s blow.  Yup, now I am 33.  Pretty much the same as 32, but with a new pair of Birkenstocks to break in.  The mystery of what will be is over.  And now I know the real truth about aging.  With each year comes new responsibilities, pressures, and expectations.  Maturing essentially means sacrificing more and more and more and more, as you give up more and more and more.

    Sadly for The Munch, with her turning 3 she too is going to be weighted down by new responsibilities and expectations.  The fist being she is now off the boob.  No more teat for her.  Her days of nana (what Munch calls breastfeeding) are over.

    Toni: “Happy birthday Munch!!!”

    Munch: “Mamma, I want to do nana.”

    Toni: “Well Munch, remember what we said.  Once it’s your birthday what happens?”

    Munch: “I turn three years old!”

    Toni: “And what happens when you are 3?”

    Munch: “No more nana!”

    Toni: “Right!”

    Munch: “ Okay, but can I just do one side?”

    Forget the fact I am negotiating with my child about wanting to only nurse on one side and not the other. Forget all that because I know it’s crazy that Munch and I have real conversations about this shit! Nana has gone on long enough and she is just too verbal to continue a day longer!!!  But now it is over.  I have to remind Munch that 3-year olds don’t do nana, and she has to accept it.

    But I feel for her when I see the disappointment in her face.  Even though the solar calendar tells you that you are now in fact a year older, you don’t feel any different.  You feel exactly the same as you did the day before, yet all this significance is placed on you as if you would actually feel the conversion.  I am telling Munch she is 3, and now she has to behave like a 3-year old, when she probably feels just like she did when she was 2 – and still thinks a boob in her mouth is a great idea.  But even though she didn’t put up a fight, I could see in The Munch’s eyes that she felt “maybe being 3 isn’t as rad as I thought.”

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