Motherhood has been kicking me in the bum lately.
During my daughter's 2.5-year check-up a couple of weeks ago, I told her pediatrician that she gave up milk shortly after her second birthday, and he made it very clear that I had completely failed her as a mother by allowing her to pull such shenanigans, and that I was not to allow her to consume ANY liquids until she developed a taste for milk again.
I'm not kidding.
But my daughter is nothing if she's not persistent, and it soon became clear that she would rather be admitted to the hospital for dehydration than drink milk ever again (and yes, I tried 2%, 1%, skim, chocolate, strawberry, almond, and rice milk), and my mommy instincts told me I needed to drop it. It just wasn't worth the tears, you know?
So I did some research and set about incorporating more calcium-rich foods into her diet, but after a week of power struggles at every single meal, I finally reached my saturation point. The terrible twos, the 2-year molars, and my feelings of parental failure coupled with the fact that my husband was traveling for business suddenly became too much for me, and I decided we needed a break from it all.
So while I was folding laundry last Monday afternoon, I decided we'd have pancakes and watermelon for dinner, and that I would pour myself a big, fat glass of wine and order a movie when I put my daughter to bed that night.
And that's when I heard a thump.
My daughter had fallen off the couch and split her head open for the second time in 6 weeks.
Of course, had the doctors stitched her head instead of gluing it when we were in the ER 6 weeks ago, her little spill off the couch wouldn't have been a big deal.
But they didn't stitch it, and my sweet girl managed to fall directly on her unhealed wound when she fell of the couch, so I had no choice but to pack a bag of electronic toys and head to the hospital during rush hour traffic.
In the pouring rain.
Two and a half hours, 3 stitches, and a lot of screaming and tears later, we finally ate those pancakes, and I poured myself that glass of wine, but I felt completely and utterly defeated.
Why am I such a crappy mother?
Why did I allow her to roll around on the couch?
How long will it be before someone revokes my parenting license?
The following day, my mother gave me a good pep talk and I was starting to feel better.
The day after that, we had music class, and one of the other moms hung back after class and suggested we get together for a playdate.
And I finally felt like the black cloud that was hanging over me was finally lifting.
But then the terrible twos decided to make an appearance right then and there, and my daughter screamed every single time I opened my mouth to have the first adult conversation I'd had in 4 days.
And do you know what the sweet woman asked me while I was struggling to get my daughter to stop screaming so I could give her my email address?
She asked if I was planning on having more kids.
And when I looked at her like she had 2 heads, she looked at my daughter and said, "because when I had my second child, it made my life so much easier."
And this, my friends, is why you should throw your birth control in the garbage.
Because, according to my new mom friend, it's doing nothing but holding you back from a happier, calmer existence.
By this way, is this true? Does life as a mom really get easier the more kids you have? Because if it does, I am seriously considering poking holes in the Trojans before my husband gets home tonight.