Ah, the life of a mother of a three-year-old. 'Tis bittersweet. My days and emotions are intrinsically linked with his. Lucky me. He swings from docile and kind to violent and screaming on a proverbial dime.
I am frustrated, exhausted and without answers. I am trying to find the lesson in this madness. I realize that as much as I consider myself a patient person, I am currently without. I feel as if I have no control, no recourse. Henry's first episode of each day leaves me feeling flat and hopeless. Today I let him watch two hours of Mickey Mouse Club House to stave off some certain lowering of some looming boom. I let him eat as many Goldfish as desired, just to keep the peace.
This afternoon, after a delightful romp outside, I delivered the unfortunate news that it was time to go inside. The devil himself embodied Henry. He shrieked, thrashed, spit fire. He threw his shoes, his helmet and kicked his scooter. After I closed the garage door, he defiantly ran back out, under the door. The fear of him being smooshed by the door threw me into a tither. I was simultanteously grateful he was ok and ready to pummel him. My lungs hurt I was so angry. I truly don't recognize him at these times. How can this be my sweet-cheeked boy who tells me he "wuvs me"?
So I sit, spent. I must reach down into the depths of my waning patience and sit with the fact that I do not currently have the answers, and rest my tired laurels on the hope that some day soon, they will come.