Dear God please help me not go insane. Dear God please help me not go insane. Dear God please help me not go insane. Because holy crap, I am about two seconds from going out of my F’ing mind and being strapped into a straightjacket and dumped into a padded cell. It started last week when I opened up the minivan door annnnnd…
HOLDEN: NOOOOOOOOO, MOMMY YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO LET ME DO IT!!!!!!!!
Wait, what? When did you even learn how to open the minivan door? Well, apparently he did, and now if I forget and accidentally do it for him (which I do every time because I’ve been opening it for over four years now) it’s shitstorm central in our garage. And this isn’t the only thing he insists on doing.
Basically overnight Holden went from being this kid who wanted me to do everything for him to the kid who wants to do everything all by himself. EVERYTHING. And I know I’m supposed to be all supportive and happy that he’s trying to be independent, but he’s slow as molasses. And half of the shit he wants to do is impossible for him to do without my help.
Like yesterday I handed him an unwrapped granola bar and did you hear what happened? No seriously, did you hear it from where you are because I’m pretty sure the entire country could hear the fit he threw. I finally shoved the entire granola bar in my mouth, which of course made him lose it even more.
And then he wanted a glass of milk and insisted on pouring it himself, which is pretty much impossible since the full carton weighs more than he does and I’m hovering over him the whole time going…
ME: Do you want my help? Don’t spill it. Can I help you? Here, let me hold the glass. Be careful. BE CAREFUL!! Agghhh, NOOOOOO!!!!
And the whole carton of milk was suddenly pouring all over the table. And I was like why didn’t you let me help you?!!! But nope, God forbid I help him unbuckle his seatbelt or wipe his butt or wash him in the bath or get his jacket on or get the cookie out of the box, etc etc etc etc etc.
So I have to stand there and watch him do everything all alone. Like when he puts his socks on slowwwwwwwwwlllllllllllllyyyyyyy and… oh…. my…. gawwwwwwwddddddd… it… is… like… watching… paint… dry… in… a… rainforest… with… 100% humidity.
And then when he finally gets the socks on, they’re all saggy in the toes, and I know they’re going to scrunch up and be a problem when he tries to put his shoes on over them, but he still won’t let me straighten them and yup, here comes another freak out session.
So here’s how much time he needs to get ready every morning if he does it all by himself:
Which means we need to wake up by 5:57 to be on time to school. But really MUCH earlier because I have to get another child ready too and even though I wear pajama bottoms to carpool, I still have to put a bra on and get coffee. But it’s okay because Little Mr. Independent wakes up at the ass crack of dawn. Oh wait, noooo, all of the sudden he’s started sleeping in. Agggghhhh, are you F’ing kidding me?!!! NOW is when you decide to sleep later?!!
Anyways, if you need me I will be in the corner huddled up in the fetal position wrapped around a bottle of something hard until this phase comes to an end. Or I do.
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