As I left my house one Friday morning, I pointed out to my mom and bi-weekly caregiver where I keep the headache medication, since the Little Mouse was deep in whining mode.
Who am I kidding, she’s been whining since she turned three!
For those of you who say that the two’s are terrible, I challenge you to take my three year old. The two’s were a peach in comparison. The problem is she walks the tight rope of ‘baby’ versus ‘big girl’, changing her mood, reactions, actions and mind, depending on the minute.
You thought I was going to say, day, didn’t you?
Nope. We are definitely talking minute. Some days it is 1,440 minutes of straight whining. Some days we get a break for twenty minutes here and there.
This particular morning she woke up at 5:09, for reasons unknown, and I told her it was still nighttime and she had to go back to bed. She did, but woke up ripe for the picking at 6:15. From there, it all went downhill and sounded something like this:
I don’t want to sleep anymore, waaaaaaaah. I want to go downstairs and have milk, waaaaaah. I want the light on, waaaaah. I don’t like purple, waaaaah. Why is my room purple? Waaaaah. I don’t want to get dressed today, waaaah. I’m don’t like this bear anymore, waaaah
(She literally makes the ”waaaaah” sound after every sentence.)
We got up and went downstairs, and like she does every morning, she started crying because she wants to turn the television on (before her sister does), and then she’s crying because she doesn’t want the “yeh-yo” (yellow) cup, she wants the purple cup.
This morning, the Little Bird pointed out to her that she just said upstairs that she didn’t like purple anymore, to which the Little Mouse responded, “yes I do, waaaaah”. She then launched into other complaints;
You said that the Little Bird is staying with Nonna and I have to go to daycare, waaaah.
Me: No. You are both staying home with Nonna today.
I don’t like going to daycare, waaaah.
Me: Sorry honey, Nonna can’t come every day to watch you.
I don’t want to wear my running shoes today, waaaah
Me: Okay, wear your sandals
I don’t want to eat cereal, waaaah.
Me: Do you want toast?
Can I have some cake? Waaaah
Me: You cannot eat cake for breakfast.
I need a tissue, waaaah. I want more milk, waaaah. I can wipe my own nose, waaah. I want chocolate chips, waaaah. Can I watch Sheriff Callie? I want to watch the “pie-fief” one, waaah.
By now, I had a headache and no amount of talking to, scolding or helping would end the madness. It doesn’t end. It continues all day long and over everything. I know she will grow up and out of this stage, but may there be divine intervention to help me cope. It’s the continuous sound of that cry that could send me and D over the edge.
On this particular morning, I bailed. I felt horrible for leaving my mother, who already had the look of fear in her eyes, and the Little Bird who already knew her sister’s behaviour was going to change the course of the day.
I felt worse for not being able to take it. As parents we’re supposed to handle it all, right? Well, I think I found my weak spot (or at least another one) in my skills as a parent. I can’t take it. I am trying not to get too optimistic over a trick I tried, telling her that I had her smile in my pocket and she needs to put it back on, because she whines about not knowing how to put it back on. So until that trick is perfected, I think the only things I can do is pop more Advil and cry with her.