There, I said it. No beating around the bush or sugarcoating it. I promised this blog would be honest, and here it is. They’re assholes.
Don’t get me wrong, I love SB. I love her so much it hurts, and I’d do anything in my power to keep her safe.
But she’s an asshat.
My life is split into two halves.
Half of it is spent making bargains. “Calm down sweetie, and we’ll watch some Paw Patrol”. “Shut up and you can have a Milkybar”. “Seriously, shut up right now and I will let you brush my hair for 24 straight hours”.
The other half is spent making threats. “If you don’t calm down, I’m switching Paw Patrol off”. “Be quiet or you’ll never get Milkybar every again”. Oh, and my new favourite – “If you keep this up, I’m going to take a picture and put it on the blog”.
Yes, I’ve reached a new low. I’ve threatened my child; my precious, cherished baby girl, with my blog.
I took a picture, but I haven’t put it on the blog. (It’s on my Instagram, which was a sort of halfway house because she still didn’t freaking shut up and she looks really cute when she’s angry).
I keep asking myself “When will this stop?”, and then I remember the almighty tantrum I had last week over running out of chocolate spread so I can’t eat it out of the jar with a spoon, and feel a little bit of despair. If I haven’t outgrown it at 22 what hope does SB have?
My toddler might be an asshole, but I’ve got a sinking feeling that she’s learned everything she knows from me.
Filing this blog post away under “Things my child will use against me in therapy one day”.