in the clear. . .in a manner of speaking

ava’s rsv is gone. you know, aside from the first few days where there was fever and wheezing and general unpleasantness, it wasn’t that bad. really, i was mostly affected (negatively, of course) by the awfulness of sitting in our house all day and avoiding contact with anything younger than 12 months (cat doesn’t count). i think ava was thinking, ‘what is wrong with this mom? she used to take me places, but now she’s duddy.’ and it’s true, i was duddy. but she was difficult! somehow my duddiness awoke the independent 2-year-old in my 19-month-old and now she has a temper tantrum EVERY OTHER FREAKING MINUTE.

i don’t know if i can properly convey the amount of exasperation this makes me feel.

for example:

me: ava, would you like some applesauce?

ava, nodding: yes.

i take the applesauce from the fridge, pour it in to a bowl, get a spoon, put it on the high chair tray, go to lift ava in to the high chair–

suddenly she’s a wet noodle, slithering all over the floor, throwing herself every which way and hitting her head repeatedly. i can only hope that this repeated head injury will result in a soap-opera-like coma where she slips out for a little while, i get a little dramatic mourning in, a good nap and then she wakes up slightly hazy but back to her normal self by the end of the week. meanwhile, i can only try to understand what has set off this child. she looks up at me, sobbing, excreting tears, mucus and saliva from every possible source on her face. she looks like death.

me: don’t you want applesauce?

more tears.  somewhere, a nod.

me: well, get in to your seat and i’ll give it to you.

more tears. and a wail. it’s loud. i wince.

me: ava, i don’t know what you want.

i’d like to add that if i spoke to myself in the patronizing tone i’m using on my daughter, i’d probably act like a limp noodle too. note to self: work on this.

me: ava, your applesauce is waiting.

ava mumbles something but it is incomprehensible due the amount of saliva stretching from her chin to her bellybutton. i don’t even want to think about the carpet.

me: what? i couldn’t hear you.

ava, again, mumbles something awkward.

me: what?

this time, there is sarcasm in my voice. i am a bad mother.

ava: SPOON!

i hand her the spoon. she stands, red eyed and slimy, raising her arms so i can put her in to her seat. i do so and she happily settles down to a bowl of applesauce.


this has to stop. BUT HOW?



Filed under ava, motherhood

7 responses to “in the clear. . .in a manner of speaking

  1. Liz

    It doesn’t stop. Just hunker down and get ready for the long haul. I think I’ll stop at two. Any more and I might start having the tantrums that my kids are guilty of. Who am I kidding? I already have those! Seriously, though, I’m really sorry that Ava has stepped into that stage. I wish you all the best. It’s so, so, so hard! Be sure to get babysitters often and take time for yourself away from Ava, otherwise you’ll start to resent her. It’s inevitable. This age is so difficult!

    Wow, I really sound negative. I’d better try to be happier in the future, but for now, I’m content just empathizing with you. It’s nice to know that my kids aren’t the only ones who turn into little devils every now and then. Good luck!

  2. amber

    hahhaa, this is MY LIFE all day long! Except that Camilla does not talk. Everything is “dat, dat, dat”. You are not a bad mother by using sarcasm my goodness it is the only thing that gets me through the day- and rolling my eyes at her 🙂

  3. If the wet noodle tactic wasn’t so completely aggravating, it would be hilarious. In fact, when Declan did it, I would blow my top every time. With Greer, I usually just let her slither around for a few minutes to get it out of her system, laugh at her ridiculous and unintelligible behavior, and then wait until she tells me what is causing the freakout. Whenever the last baby gets here, he’ll probably need therapy because his mom had no sympathy for him as a baby. I totally feel your pain. 2 is the annoyingest number that you’ve ever seen!

  4. Annie

    Amen to all of that! Sorry, hon, but it doesn’t go away. Not for a long time. My kid is 2 1/2 and has been able to speak in full sentences since he was 1 1/2 and, yet, I can’t tell you how many times a day I have to say to him “Aidan, I can’t understand you when you talk like that” because he’s whining so intensely that his words are incomprehensible. And that usually results in an encore performance of the original meltdown. Prepare yourself for when baby #2 shows up….

  5. rooster7

    aw honey! i am sorry that ava has hit that stage too. chas is currently in that stage. it is painful to say the least. i have no solution either… except he doesn’t talk really he signs. he says, “he ha he ha” and then signs please, and help and then repeats the above process. he will say please but i have NO IDEA what he is talking about. finally i will ask him a million and one questions to see if that is what he is looking for… and then begins the melt down… it is SO FRUSTRATING. i’m so over it.
    so i’m sorry… i wish i could make it stop.

  6. rooster7

    by the way this may be conor’s account… but this is kt

  7. amber

    thank you for the post. I’m glad you went through a similar experience- and that I am not a wimpy mom to feel so bad for her. It’s so funny that you bring up the bottle cause Camilla is still taking a bottle before bedtime and I am slightly ashamed of it! Where does this guilt come from that I feel- it mainly comes from other mothers- but why do I feel it? I have NEVER cared what other people think- or at least I thought I never did. Apparently I do!

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