The Curse

I don’t know about you other parents out there, but I’ll tell you what, I’m sick and tired of being “the meanest mom in the entire world”.  Of course, my position is that if anyone ever did anything I ever asked the first 19 times I asked, I wouldn’t have to yell.  How do mother’s all over the world put up with this abuse without going crazy? 

I will happily admit, that while  verbally sparring with my daughter, I am not at my finest hour.  She’s always been very sassy (hence the nickname) and verbally able to express her annoyance at me.  It began at about three years old.  We were sitting at the dinner table, and I was tired of watching her make a mess with her applesauce.

“If you don’t stop screwing around with your dinner…” I made the opened ended threat.

“You’ll what.”  This was not a question.  She was clearly not afraid.  I could see my husband close his eyes.  He was probably sending up a silent prayer.  Obviously, he knew this wouldn’t end well.

“Well first, I’ll take away your applesauce.”

“And second?” she demanded with a defiant little flip of her head.

I am not cowed.  “And second, I’ll send you to your room.”

The Bandit was only about a year old, and he knew better than to interrupt, even at this young age.  He just sat in his highchair watching our exchange like he was seeing a tennis match.  My Honey now held his head in his hands.  He was probably reeling from a vision of his future in this family.

My darling daughter, that I wanted so desperately, that I struggled so hard to carry to term, but was ultimately unsuccessful.  That tiny little 3lb 9oz infant that I spent every waking hour with in the NICU.  That beautiful baby looked me in the eye and said, “Psehaw” with a derisive snort.

Things have not improved.  The drama has only increased.  This child is unbelievably dramatic and can summon crocodile tears in an instant.  This morning I asked 97 times for her to brush her teeth, comb her hair, eat her breakfast and get into the car.  My voice escalated in volume and my blood pressure rose.  Finally the two of us were out the door and marching to the car, some of us more blubbery and pathetic than others. 

“Why do you have to be so mean all the time?”

“Listen. It’s not my job to be nice to you.  It’s my job to turn you into a nice, respectful adult.  Besides, you’re mean to me all the time.  You say hateful things to me everyday.  You don’t think that hurts my feelings?  Now get in the damn car.”

See, not my finest hour.  And then to make matters worse, I’ll spend the whole day at work, upset because we had harsh words in the car.  What if I get hit by a bus and the thing she gets to remember of me is, “Get in the damn car”?  I’ll be feeling all warm and fuzzy by the time I get home, and the first thing out of the little darling’s mouth is, “You forgot to ….!”  Whatever.  It doesn’t even matter what finishes that sentence.  I remember a time when she was twoish and there was a period of time when I was too stupid to make juice.

I know she loves me.  I most definitely love her.  I tell her this at every opportunity.  I also know that our main problem is that my daughter’s temperament and personality is the spitting image of my own.  I have received the Mother’s Curse with interest.  Unfortunately, I think it may do me in.