tough times

Parenting isn't an easy path to tread,

we know that when we sign up.

We know there will be sleepless nights,

we know there will be tough decisions to make sometimes,

we know that our children will be the best things to ever happen to us

but that there will also be challenges and hard times.

But knowing that doesn't make the tougher times any easier when they come around.

Because the tough times tend to blindside you

when you are least prepared for them

and when things have been happily lulling you into a false sense of security.

And there has been a fair bit of the tougher stuff going on around these parts lately.

I knew months back when everything was going along so swimmingly

that it wouldn't always be so lovely.

I even wrote a post about the beauty of that easy season of parenthood

and how we needed to stock up those lovely moments for harder days.

I knew that parenting can't always be sunshine and rainbows.

I knew...

Well I'm cashing in those memories of easier times on a daily basis at the moment,

because my lovely, charming, clever little man,

is spending a large proportion of his time driving me slowly, but surely, insane.

We seemingly missed out on the infamous "terrible twos"

and except for the odd hour where he'd get over tired and a bit crazy for a bit,

we breezed through most of his third year.

But lately I have spent ridiculous amounts of my time questioning everything about how I parent

and spending monumental amounts of my time being the sort of 

nagging, 

shouting, 

cross, 

"no" mummy

that I never wanted to be.

It's so so hard trying to look after a little person

who has made up their mind to automatically disagree with every word you say.

Who wants to stay home when you say you're going out,

but who then complains about staying home and asks to go out.

Who wants to wear pyjamas all day as soon as you say it's time to get dressed,

but who refuses to put pyjamas on at bedtime.

Who sometimes wants you to sing along with the television,

but other times will scream at you if you so much as hum a tune.

Who doesn't want their bath, until the water is being drained out.

Who is absolutely "not sleepy" at nap time or bed time.

Who is never, ever, ever hungry for any food you put in front of him.

I don't worry particularly about how I parent and manage behaviour.

My years teaching mean I feel pretty confident about how I should be dealing with him.

But it's surprising how much harder it is when it's your own child,

and when the challenging behaviour doesn't stop at three o'clock

when you get to hand the children on to someone else's watch for a bit.

I feel like I am dealing with him,

and with the challenging behaviour he's been practising of late,

not always fantastically,

but mostly fairly,

and mostly in a way that will help him to understand the boundaries

which he is trying so hard to push,

while I try so hard to inforce them.

Because that's my job.

It's not my job to always be his best friend,

it's my job to raise him right.

But it's exhausting.

It's hard work feeling like the simplest tasks are a battle.

It's hard work getting over one obstacle,

just to know that there is another one straight after,

and another straight after that.

It's hard work keeping up the "you're not getting under my skin" facade,

when really I'd quite like to cry and hug him and beg him to just stop already.

And we see these tantalising snippets of the lovely him from time to time;

where he is charming and loving,

where he is witty as hell and we share a laugh together,

where he is so so so clever

and does something so amazing that he leaves me gobsmacked with pride.

Sometimes these snippets last minutes,

sometimes hours,

sometimes most of a day,

and I cling onto them as if they are keeping me afloat in rough seas.

That awesome little boy I love to pieces is still lurking in there,

and I know he'll find his way back.

I love him so much

...of course I do!

It's just that some times at the moment,

I really don't like him all that much.

And that is so hard for me to admit,

because I know parenting is a 'take the rough with the smooth' kind of journey,

and because I know this is all part of it.

But I don't want to have days where he drives me mad,

I don't want to have days where I just want to leave him napping a bit longer 

just to put off the inevitable post nap strop,

I don't want to have days where I don't like my son.

Because he's the best thing to ever happen to me

and I hate myself for feeling like that.

I know it's a phase.

I know it won't last.

But right now,

while we're in it…?

I just desperately want my lovely boy back.