I'm still alive. Barely. First it was the thrush. No, wait. First, it was Bug becoming a toddler. Then, throw in some teething, then the thrush, maybe a little bit more of the whole toddler thing, and it's been pretty much a natural disaster around here. I just barely regained control of my kitchen. Sure, sure, we got rid of the thrush, and that tiny little tooth broke through. (Though, I'm inclined to think there are more on the way). I just can't do anything about the toddler part.
Hmmm...the toddler part. What do I do about the toddler part? Seriously. What do I do?
Bug throws things. Everything. And pushes heavy things off of tables. This normally wouldn't be a huge problem. But we live on the top floor of an apartment. That means there are people below us. They are probably incredibly annoyed with the thumping of The Complete Sherlock Holmes hitting the floor every stinkin' day. And the thumping of that 5 million pound water and glitter filled "bouncy" ball that grandpa so lovingly gifted to Bug. And the clang-thumping of every pot lid we own being thrown onto the kitchen floor.
Bug hits. He hits my face, even after I continually help him gently stroke my face while cooing "gentle", "soft", and "nice". He hits my head. My arms. My back. He hits my chest when I tell him he has to wait for "nursies". He hits my chest, even when he is getting "nursies".
Bug pinches. This is usually during "nursies". But he has also been known to grab fingerfuls of skin and squeeze as tight as he can. This is usually accompanied by Bug clenching his other fist and straining his whole little body. It's like he can't pinch hard enough.
Bug bites. These bites usually start out of raspberries being blown on exposed skin. Apparently mom and dad are just too dang delicious. He does it when you would least expect it. And, sometimes, he does it when I am expecting it (but can't stop him quickly enough). I think he does it for revenge sometimes. Not that a toddler has much reason to plot a vendetta. Except, of course, when I tell him not to pinch/bite/hit/scratch me.
Bug scratches. Luckily, I can control this part of Bug's violent streak, by cutting his nails short. But, then again, those little claws of death grow really fast. And really, they are claws. Especially because Bug has figured out that the best way to scratch is to hook his little finger and dig into the targeted flesh with as much force as he can muster.
Bug pulls hair. Fistfuls. Mommy's head. Daddy's chest. Mommy's head. Daddy's leg. Mommy's head. And he shrieks with delight if I punish him. I'm beginning to think my son has an intense need for violence.
I truly don't know how to handle my crazy, maniacal, sadistic son. I've tried everything I can think of to get him to stop his behavior. I KNOW he is doing this because of the learning stage he is in right now. If I can patiently wait, he should grow out of his love of torture. But it doesn't help me to love him. Well....that's hard for a mother to say. I always love him. But I sure as heck don't want to be around him when he is clinging onto me and trying to poke his finger in my eyeball. And if I don't let him poke my eye out, he pulls my hair and bites me. Now that's what I call a lose-lose situation.
There are some things I never thought I would say. One of those is, "I can't wait until my kids are teenagers". And I haven't said that....yet. And I may never. Teenagers aren't cute. And no matter how destructive Bug may get, no matter how mangled I may get, it can take less than two seconds for my demon child to become the funniest and most adorable creation on earth.