The Truth About Toddlers (hint: they suck)

I love F.

At the end of the day, with all the screaming and the whining and the pleading and the spitting and the potty mouth and all of the other less-than-glamorous stuff, there's nothing I love more than wrapping him up in my arms and snuggling. In a lot of ways, he really is the best but the cold, hard truth is that toddlers are the worst in a whole lot of ways. Have you ever seen a toddler meltdown? Yeah. Exactly.

convincing, no? don't let him fool you.

So, I guess what I'm saying is that even though I really, really, REALLY love him, sometimes he's pretty hard to like (which, as far as I'm concerned is a part of the human condition). I remember his second birthday vividly - especially the part where everyone made jokes like "now it begins" "here come the terrible twos".

BULLSHIT.

Two was a walk in the park. Three? Now that's where it gets interesting. Three was like dragging a screaming toddler across a park because it's time to leave and he doesn't want to. Oh, wait. No that was yesterday. Funny that. 

My favourite thing about toddlerhood is that kids are coming into themselves. They're figuring out what they like and what they don't like, and they are adamant about these two extremes with very little in the way of "middle ground". Tolerance and toddlers just don't go together, unless you're a parent trying very hard to tolerate your child at which point I recommend wine, or coffee or both in excess. Especially the wine.

Toddlers are impossible to predict - no matter how well you think you may know them. F often likes his sandwich cut in half, but every now and again he doesn't so WATCH YOURSELF if you cut it without asking. Mercy. Think Hulk only less green and instead of ripping his shirt off he pulls it over his head and gets stuck, thus actually needs my help (but would never admit to it).

They also seem to know words that they shouldn't know, and I'll take it one step further by pointing out that the little buggers darlings know the exact friggin' context in which to use them. Merde. Have you ever heard a 3-year-old sling a four-letter-word, while holding a sippy cup? Tis a sight to behold, lemme tell ya. In F's defense, he probably learned them from me. In my defense, I have nothing to say for myself. Fisherman's daughter, yo.

Toddlers are experts at embarrassing the hoozy-whatzit out of you at the most inopportune moments. No really, take your kid to that public washroom with you. It's a great idea, until they open the door and expose you, squatting precariously over the toilet and cursing yourself for not having stronger legs (while simultaneously telling yourself that this quick trip to the loo constitutes a workout). Then you can just wait until they tell everyone you see about whatever other private business didn't want advertised the exact second your kid sees a person. "D'ya know what my Mom did? She pooped in the toilet this morning."

Thanks, kid.

And finally, much like the teenagers they are all-too-soon to become, toddlers have mood swings that would give a person whiplash. One minute it's all lovey-dovey, and the next minute you're the monster that lives under the bed and they don't want to be your friend anymore. While I regularly lament that my toddler thinks he's a teenager, I *almost* look forward to when he's a teenager so I can just leave him to his brooding and go to Starbucks and drink the largest caffeinated beverage I can find WITH WHIPPED CREAM and possibly even enjoy it while it's still hot. Something tells me people might get upset if I tried this with my occasionally angst-ridden toddler.

Now, I do have to point out that F is a pretty good little guy most of the time. I'd like to think that this is indicative of me doing something right, but perhaps he was born with it? In the middle of his biggest meltdowns, I try to remind myself that he's had a lot to cope with and overcome and then sometimes I join him. But when we're both tired and overwhelmed or there was something he wanted and couldn't have, you might say SHIT HITS THE FAN. Wear gloves.

It's a special age, and the truth is that it is flying by faster than F can race me up the stairs (which, might I add, is very fast). It's hard when he's his super pleasant self, but it's pretty well impossible when he's not. While I wouldn't trade him in for all the pumpkin spice lattes in the world, I can honestly tell you that I look forward to embarrassing the shit out of that kid when he gets a little older. I wonder what his first date will think of me making her privy to his bathroom schedule? ;)

The 10 Commandments of Cats and Kids

Since becoming a parent to Mr. F and the cat, I've learned that I've been going about life all wrong. Here are a few things my cat and toddler have taught me...

1. It is never safe to go to the bathroom, for any reason, without supervision. For this reason, whether my trip to the bathroom is to brush my teeth, pee or have a bath, I have at least one set of eyes on me. This is especially true if you're a through-the-night-bathroom-trip-taker. You should carry your toddler and allow the cat to sit on your lap while you try to unravel some TP in a sleep-induced fog. Don't drop the kid on the way back to bed. They don't like that.  

2. One must never sleep alone. In fact, you should always have another living creature on top of you. The leg of a toddler or a cat bum in your face is a good thing. Make sure you don't try to casually move child and cat from your bed to toddler bed. They don't like that.

3. Behind the couch, under the bed and inside the radiator is the only place to keep valuable or important items including, but not limited to, credit cards, jewelry and favourite toys. You should remove these items every 3 minutes, as that is the frequency of their disappearance. Don't even think about trying to take a trip to the bathroom, either. Your only job is to remove these things from their "lost" places.

4. You should always stand directly in front of the door someone is about to open so that they hit you and know that you are there, waiting for them. This is especially true if someone was really living on the edge and went to the bathroom alone. Shame on them.

5. The fridge and cupboard doors should always be left open. Always. If you trip over them, that's your own damn fault.

6. Dust bunnies have feelings too. What were you thinking vacuuming them up and disposing of them? Gosh. And, HOW DARE YOU throw out any broken toys, crayons or old food. Seriously. Have you no heart?

7. 3am is the prime time to ask questions, chase your tail and demand pizza.

8. Water is more fun when it is spilled across counter tops, floors and furniture. Extra points are awarded to whomever successfully breaks the glass in the process to spill said water.

9. Trips to the potty should be announced as loudly as possible, at all times. Keep record of these trips - strangers need to know about your um, comings and goings.

10. Popsicles, nachos, ice cream and chocolate are all suitable for breakfast. If you do not get one or all of these things for breakfast, throw a temper tantrum and be snotty for the rest of the day. Make sure you get the cat on board with this - if your meltdown doesn't drive your big person crazy, the cat will make sure it trips her.

...and Clap!

Divorce Sex.
 
Would you do it?
 
I consider myself to be fairly open-minded, and anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I am very comfortable with my sexuality. It seems to frighten a few people, actually. It seems not everyone is comfortable with a woman taking ownership of her own sexuality... which really sucks for them! I am comfortable discussing sex, I feel better naked than clothed and I genuinely enjoy sex, although it's been so long I can't really say I remember it.
 
Even in the aftermath of our separation, I am lucky enough (or something like that) to be able to joke about and approach the subject of sex and dating with my ex. While we hadn't seen eachother since July, he's been here for me more in the past month than he has all year and I can give credit where credit is due - especially when there is so little! When I discovered my car tires were looking low, I called him up. He agreed to help me fill them, and so he dropped by yesterday evening to pick up my car. Instead we sat down and talked. I let my emotions overflow in relation to being away from F, and he promised me I was doing the right thing. He's made me feel really bad in the past, but damnit if he can't make me feel a million times better.
 
Somehow, the conversation moved on to dating. I boldly went where no ex-wife really wants to go when I asked if he was seeing anyone. He said no. I said no, but asked for some mild dating advice. He gave it, and we both laughed. As I went into the bathroom to check my hair, he called down the hall "So, when is the last time you got laid?". I dramatically walked into the hall and snarkily replied "Probably longer than you!", and the jokes started flying. "I'm almost desperate enough to sleep with you," I called down the hallway, and he laughed and said "Yeah, why not? We should have some divorce sex. Like one last hurrah!".
 
Really?
 
I stood in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. Could I do that? Would I do that? Break-up sex and make-up sex always seem to fall into the "super-hot" category, don't they?To me, the facts are pretty simple. We're not together, and that is for a reason. While I can't say with absolute certainty that I am or am not OK with casual sex, I can confidently say that I could not possibly have sex with him without having some form of emotional hysteria to follow. You know the kind of frenzy that leads you to believe you're certifiably crazy-pants? That. I don't look good like that.

Don't you love my dress?

 
The other rather ugly fact is that while I love J (and likely always will), I know that things will never get better. They never have. I can't live my life in that cycle - and he shouldn't either. So, while I can honestly say that I had a really great time coming into my sexuality with him... I can most definitely say that I don't need to revisit that ever again.
 
Vibrators, duh.