As I sit here trying to channel my inner Carrie Bradshaw (only far less glam, probably less crazy and without any Jimmy Choos in my closet) I couldn't help but wonder why my children's whining affects me so much. Is it the pitch, the frequency, the intensity? Are we, as mothers, wired to never ignore our own whining children?For me, the noise grates on my ears and I feel it all the way in my spine.
It's not even the whining, although there was plenty of it. It's this age - terrible twos- that I particularly dislike. The clumsiness, the testing of limits, spitting (oh yay, we discovered we can spit!), hitting and other uncool behavior.
It's all the things I'm sure I'll be finding endearing as zaiki grow up and fly the nest. But right now, I could really do without it.
It's getting a mouthful of milk and spitting it on the floor -- Sonya does it all the time now, and I'm just done with cleaning after her. Maybe the puddles on the floor will attract so many ants that they'll carry her off (if you can spot a literary reference here, I'll give you five bucks).
It's headbutting me in the thigh so I get a charlie horse each time. Or headbutting me in mouth so my lip swells up, teariing my blouse off at the indoor playground while clinging to me like a terrified gorilla baby.
It's hitting the other sister in the head with the goddamned weeble and then screaming after being disciplined.
Oh yeah, and launching yourself off the couch arm face first into the opposite couch arm while screaming "Super Maya!!" and busting your nose open also makes the cut.
It's running away from me down the street (and the little monkeys are getting fast!!!), and sprinting even faster when I yell "Stop!!". I was actually terrified that a car would hit them.
There are more, but I'll spare you. I'm not whining. I'm just venting. This was a bad weekend, and I'm glad to put it behind me. Maya went to bed saying "Sonya is crazy" over and over again. They also picked up "Oh My God". Those two can serve as a soundbite of the day.
I feel a sense of calm now. It's over, the girls are in bed (after thousand hugs, kisses and some hand holding), I'm off to read a book and lose myself in the scream- and milk-free world of Harry Potter. And to bad evil horrible really bad weekend I say "Avada Kedavra!"