Babies Aren't Martinis...You Can't Shake Them

If you are reading this, and you're a parent, first let me say: you have my full sympathy. Second: Isn't parenting just grand? There are so many things I love about being a mom. I enjoy having a constant companion. (Most of the time. Except when you want to have whoopee with your man and your kids uncanny radar prevents that.) I love knowing that no matter what may happen in my marriage, I will always have one man in my life that will always love me. There is no better (or scarier) feeling in the world than being responsible for someone besides yourself. It's a very humbling experience being a parent. With that being said, it's not an easy road. At all. As I said, you are responsible for another human being. That means raising them and giving them the best guidance you can to make them ready to enter society functioning independently. That's a friggin terrifying feeling. Along this road to adult hood that you are taking your child on, you hit so many bumps. Or pot holes. Or you fall into man holes that were not properly labeled. My son is two and it seems like once he hit that age he lost his fucking mind. People are not kidding when they call it "terrible twos" because that shit is NO JOKE. It doesn't matter if you are like me, a first time mom, or like the Duggars and have 19 of those mothers running around, nothing can prepare you for the psychotic episode known as the second year. My son has proven that to me time and time again recently. It began innocently enough. Just the occasional tantrum in Wal-Mart. A little mayhem here and there. I was once cocky enough to believe that that was as bad as it was going to get. Rest assured my kid gave me a healthy dose of bone crushing reality and I will live in fear for the next year. At least. The main thing to remember when your child is having a full blown melt down that would put Courtney Love to shame is this: Walk. Away. Sound simple enough? It's not. You are angry that your kid just put batteries in the toaster, made artwork of your rental agreement, and smeared what appears to be shit on their bedroom wall, and this was all before 9AM. You are stuck. You have no idea where to go to from here. You finally have that ephiany that you understand why those horrible parents shake their children and you give them an ounce of sympathy. You don't do that of course. But you're so angry you can spit molten lava and spank your kid until they have a tattoo impression of your hand on their ass. And they've spent so much time in timeout that they're beginning to request conjugal visits. Like I said, the best thing you can do is to walk away. Leave them where they are standing, you know, once you've peeled them off the bookshelf they were trying to fly from, and just walk into the other room. Take some deep breaths. Let that blood pressure come down a few hundred notches, and go back in the snake pit to face your little cobra. I struggled doing this for a long time. I used to get so angry at my son and I just didn't know what to do. I would get so worked up that by the end of the day I would be curled in the fetal position on the living room floor mumbling to the voices in my head with an IV drip of sangria going on. Don't let it get to this point. You might feel guilty for leaving them there, but at least you won't be feeling guilty from a prison cell for shaking your kid harder than granny with parkinsons on boggle night. The fact of the matter is, the more you show how angry you are in front of your kids, the more power they feel over you. Being a toddler is all about pushing boundaries and seeing how far you will let them go before you tear them a new ass hole that could give the grand canyon a run for its money. As long as you keep a firm, but loving approach to discipline, you'll survive. They grow out of the stage eventually. You might come out of it with a few more gray hairs than what you started with, but at least you'll know that your kid is going to respect you for it. And you'll avoid being someone's prison bitch. Just keep that in mind. Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go wash food coloring out of the dog's hair. Wish me luck.