Jax and I have had a rough time lately, with near-daily tantrums (his, then admittedly a few of my own as a result) and a whole lot of headbutts to the face–my face. Tonight was classic: The three of us were enjoying dinner outside in our yard, complete with a cool breeze, music, and wine. It was pretty darn good. I even let myself feel–gasp–happy for a little while. And then out of nowhere, I was headbutted to the face.
I swear I saw stars. I think I even may have knocked Jax off my lap and into the grass as I jumped up grasping my nose, which I thought had been broken. I don’t know why I did what I did next, but I grabbed for my wine glass on my sprint back inside my house–but I missed, given that one hand was covering my nose and part of my eye, and I knocked it to the ground. I kept running because I was crying and my neighbor’s windows were wide open. I imagined what they must have thought happened, with the sudden sobbing and smashing of a glass.
I don’t know how Jax reacted to the scene, as I was crying inside my locked bathroom for the next 5 minutes or so, with an ice pack on the bridge of my nose. It wasn’t pretty–my nose or my hysterics. I told myself I’m not raising a good boy, because good boys wouldn’t intentionally headbutt their moms on a regular basis. I told myself I’m a failure. That I deserve pain.
See? Not pretty, right?
Life with a toddler is hard, yo. Age three has been…oh, I don’t know, can something be both crazy-fun and excruciating at the same time? They’re irrational little people, and they don’t know their own strength. They’re unwieldy and fiesty, and there is no predicting what they’re going to do next.
And I’m really struggling with all of this, if I’m being honest here. Jax is usually a happy kid, and he’s kind and sensitive to others. But lately, with me, he is rough and sometimes downright mean. I’m not sure what to make of it or how to correct and stop it. I’m tired of being hurt. What’s worse is seeing him laugh when he does it. I’m tired of questioning my parenting capability and all the choices I’ve made so far. I’m tired of googling and asking for advice. I just want it to stop before I end up with a black eye or worse.
I want my little snugglebutt back.
The upside to this is when he finally does come around and he says he’s sorry and kisses me and tells me I’m his Princess again, and all is forgiven. Eventually, he came inside and said he was sorry. We made up, and then he passed out on the couch at 7:45.
And here I sit at the computer, wondering what to do with myself because I haven’t had a sleeping child at 8:00 at night in a very long time. It’s almost worth the throbbing nose!
Got any advice for me? Be gentle; I’m out of ice packs.