Truly Terrible Two

At 2 years, 3 months and 24 days old, my daughter has been magically transformed into a head spinning, fist throwing, kicking and screaming little pain in the ass. It's as if someone came to her and whispered in her ear "YES, little Nova child, you ARE the ruler of the universe and don't ever let your mommy forget it for an instant." She has gone from my adorable little angel of a "mini-me" to vicious snarling spawn of satan in no time flat. It scares me.......it really does.

Apparently I've been living under some blissful delusion that my daughter would skip the entire Terrible Two's phase. I had somehow tricked myself into believing that my work as a mother was so outstanding, so vastly superior to all of the work of my predecessors, that she would just simply mature gracefully without ever questioning my authority. But then......with one look at her sprawled out in the middle of the floor in the Wonderbra section of The Bay, screaming bloody murder, my fantasy has been forever shattered. I am not a perfect mother......and I certainly don't have a perfect kid.

Exhibit A: As I am dressing the demon seed this morning, she hauls off and hits me in the face. I had told her that she needed to put on some pants and was attempting just that when she gets in my face and yells "No, YOU put on some pants!" The "YOU" was punctuated by her fist making full contact with my nose. I reeled backwards from the force of the blow. (At this point, the intense fury and rage causes time to slow down considerably and I have time to ponder my next move. Part of me wants to haul off and hit her back, part of me wants her to join a boxing gym.) What does a good mother do in this instance? Clearly I am not one, because I have NO clue. And so I do the worst possible thing.......I hit her back (softly) and say with all the force and conviction that I can muster "NO HITTING." Oh great......how confusing was that for the poor kid? Yell "NO HITTING" at the exact moment that my hand landed on her cheek. I think I have a lot to learn.

Exhibit B: Daycare has a policy about not drinking a bottle while playing. If you want to drink it then you have to be sitting down....(I know a few grown-ups who could benefit from this policy). So we arrive at daycare and the kid, bottle firmly planted in mouth, makes her way to the sandbox. Something just told me that this was going to be an ordeal, so I braced myself for the worst and asked her to hand it over. "NO." So I ask her to go and sit on the mat until she's finished with her juice. "NO." And so I try again.....and again. At this point I notice the daycare worker eyeing me up and down. She can tell I'm having trouble and is probably thinking to herself "No wonder this kid is such a little bitch, her mother has no control over her." I start sweating as my parenting skills are coming under direct fire from a professional. Do I snatch the bottle and run with it? Do I let the heathen child have her way? I was stuck. As the childcare worker made her way over to us, I braced myself for a lecture. Instead, she calmly asked my daughter if she wanted to finish her bottle. "Yes." Then, with the most silently forceful finger I have ever witnessed, she pointed to the mat. The satan spawn went and sat down. I think I need to get me a finger like that.

All I can say is....look out world. This is going to be a bumpy ride.

"Bump" is the New Black

Let's talk babies here for a moment, shall we?

On my way to work this morning I counted 12 women in various stages of post coital condition.....and I don't have very far to travel.

Is it just me, or is half the population of fertile females all knocked up? It's like a disease that's spreading east from Los Angeles and infecting everyone who comes in contact with it--via gossip tabloid or Brangelina photo.
The Bump-itis Disease.

Since when did sporting a pregnant belly become a cool fashion accessory? When I was pregnant they were called "Big Fat Tummies" (not very glamourous at all). Now they are referred to with the nausiatingly cute moniker "Baby Bump".......and all of a sudden everyone wants one (I wonder if my "beer bump" counts). It's almost as if the actual child--the lifelong responsibility, the individual person with needs and wants--doesn't exist. Like it's all just about the cute little "bump." And that one day this "bump" will just disappear and everything will be back to normal again.

Reality check#1: Your "bump" will NEVER fully go away and there is no amount of sit ups, crunches or leg lifts that will give you back the tummy you had before the arrival of your adorable little "bump." And since I'm talking about body changes, here are a few more that you may want to be aware of: Your tits will never be the same perky little missiles aimed at the sky. No, even if you don't breastfeed (and I'm not preaching here, but you should) they'll be laying down flat like the ears on a bloodhound napping in the sun. Oh.......and how about stretch marks? Some women don't get them (and should be shot), but probably most do. They can range from little dents that can only be seen if the light is just so, to deep purple scarring that resembles a New York City road map complete with side streets and "points of interest".

Really I'm just beginning to scratch the surface of the discussion regarding how your body will change with your pregnancy, I could go on and on and on........but in the interest of not scaring my lovely pregnant friends (and not grossing out my boyfriend), I'll just leave it at that for now and not go into any detail about the vaginal stretching or permanent scarring caused by tearing from one hole to the other. No, I won't discuss that stuff at all.

Reality Check #2: Within that cute little "bump" there lurks a real, live BABY--and you will have to squeeze that baby out of your once tiny little vagina! Yes it's true. One day you will give birth and there will be nothing cute about it. It's painful, it's bloody, it's long, and it's inevitable. (Note: Unless you can do like Britney, Angelina, Gwen et al. who slipped their doctors some cash and bribed them to just cut it out on a scheduled day......but as far as I know, in Canada, this remains illegal.) So provided you are birthing this baby the old-fashioned way, brace yourself for the most unbeliveably un-glamourous day(s) of your life. And it doesn't end there. No no, for the few weeks following the delivery you will be a complete and total mess. You will cry all the time and will feel like you will never sleep again (and there is some truth to this). You will wonder how you could possibly have ever done this to yourself, and will feel sometimes that death is preferable to that screaching sound of a crying newborn baby. You will not be able to poo for days--until you can actually begin to taste it in the back of your throat. And then when you finally do, it will be like giving birth all over again except this time without the drugs. No my friends, it is NOT cute.....and this brings me to

Reality Check #3: This is FOREVER. Having a child is a permanent condition and your life will never be the same again. Things like cute little "baby bumps", what shoes to wear, what type of martini to drink no longer have any relevence whatsoever. Right here, this is the hardest pill to swallow: IT IS NO LONGER ABOUT YOU. For someone as self centered, egotistical and well, just plain sefish as I am, it was not something that came naturally or easily......and to be honest, I still find it very hard. No more staying out past 10 pm. No more running off to Vegas at a moments notice. No more drinking till you puke and pass out in the bathroom. No more running to the store for midnight chocolate munchie attacks. No, no, no. The sky is no longer the limit. In fact there is no longer the sky, only the limit. I want to drill this point home: BABY RULES THE HOUSE. YOU ARE NOW THE "BUMP"s BITCH.

Allright. I know, this is a rather cynical view of what it's like to become a mother....and although not entirely inaccurate, it may be a wee bit harsh. I love every inch of my daughter and would never change a thing about my life with her. That said, I wish that I had known exactly what I was getting myself into before I closed my eyes and jumped in. Being a mother is absolutely the hardest thing that I have ever done. It's mentally, physically, and emotionally draining and it will be that way every day for the rest of my life. I am tough and I can handle it. I only hope that the tabloid addicts and the fashion victims of the world give pause for thought before settling on the "bump" instead of the toy poodle with matching Louis Vuitton carrying case.