Today left me curled in the fetal position, crying on the couch.
I am not a crier.
Wesley refused to nap. Threw a snowboot at my face. Hit me. Shouted “NO. NO NO NO NO NO!” and got right back up again when I put him in time out for hitting me. Screamed his lungs out when I tried to use the bathroom by myself. Screamed in my face when I told him he couldn’t steal my mousepad because I was using it. Jumped on the couch. Continued jumping on the couch, repeatedly, even after time outs and threats. Somersaulted on the couch and kicked me in the face and shoulder with his left and right feet, respectively. Climbed over the baby gate I put in front of his bedroom door to try to keep him in. Shouted “NO NO NO NO NO” at every suggestion of a nap. Crumbled bread all over the couch. Swiped it onto the floor and all over the baskets of clean laundry when I asked him to do something. Refused to even entertain the idea of quiet time. Threw my library book on the floor. Got into a container he shouldn’t have and strewed wrapping paper all over his room.
THIS IS NOT EVEN A COMPREHENSIVE LIST OF WHAT HAPPENED TODAY.
My texts to Daniel got increasingly more desperate and when he arrived home, I wordlessly locked myself in our room with a book and that’s where I’ve been since 3pm. Daniel took Wesley somewhere in the car. I have no idea where they are or when they’ll be back.
Wesley is the best, but let’s be clear – 2.5-year-olds are not all sunshine and rainbows.
I’m tempted to text Daniel and tell him to bring home fast food (which we don’t eat) so I can burrito myself into about six blankets and eat bad food and sit on the couch and watch the latest episode of Supernatural. That’s really all I have the energy for at this point.