Do you remember how it all seemed so simple, this parenting lark? No. Me neither. Although somehow I keep expecting it to be some kind of learning curve, that there would be progress – a body of knowledge, perhaps even some wisdom, the inner voice of experience. Perhaps, even, arriving in a state of know-what-I’m-doing motherhood.
Only the longer I do it, the less likely that seems. It’s bad enough Boy One needing to spread his wings and Boy Two brimming with attitude. But Boy Three is proving to have a talent for trickiness. In fact, I’m campaining to include a tri-awkward event in future Olympics as he excels at contrary, stubborn and down-right difficult.
Despite looking angelic, if angels have black eyes and dirty feet, he has started forcing his hand by wailing loudly as if his heart was breaking as soon as things don’t go his way. And I’m not talking a major Lego disaster, more that there aren’t enough red jelly babies in the bag. His put-on hysterics are difficulty to ignore and more often than not turn into real snotty sobs.
It’s very wearing to deal with and, yes, probably has been an effective tactic in the past. And if he isn’t throwing a tantrum the capricious creature’s notions are hard to keep up with and impossible to predict.
Today for instance, he refused point-blank to let me take his picture in his new vertbaudet jumper until I gave up the he wouldn’t stop hamming.