Night of the Screeching Howler Monkey

Last night was one of those nights. My fav little man was a little bit cantankerous. "Little bit' is an understatement. He was royally pissed. Every thing that I offered him was just no good. Epic fail on mama's part with every offering.

Food - forget about it. 1 clementine, 1 cup of mandarin oranges, 1 banana, 1 peanut butter & honey sandwich, the pasta that I made for the rest of the family, 1 hotdog, 1 donut, 1 sippy of milk, 1 sippy of juice, a donut, and even a cupcake were all met with disdain. 1 bite in, and there were tearful protests requesting something different. What kid turns down a cupcake, fully frosted and all? Mine does. Loudly, too.

He certainly was no Very Hungry Caterpillar to say the least.

Same thing with activities. Playing outside, the normal go-to activity, was not much of an option. After a red nose and some drippiness, I had to put on my Mean Mommy Pants and make him come inside. Screeching howler monkey took over. Every other thing I offered was just no good. Toys, our usual games, endless rounds of me singing "The Wheels on the Bus" did nothing to calm the screeching howler monkey. He clung to me and let me know just how mad he really was. Forget about setting him down - he climbed my leg like a monkey would a tree and continued to screech. Loud enough that I think the neighbors now doubt my parenting skills. I know that I began to. Unlike the zoo, I couldn't walk away from this exhibit.

Eventually we both passed out from the sheer exhaustion of it all.

Yet, as he finally calmed, my mind began to go in circles. "What if this is my fault? What if he hates me? What if he is one of 'those people' that is never satisfied? What if no one likes him because he is an asshole? What if I am an asshole, therefore he knows nothing else, so therefore he is an asshole? Why would I think my kid is an asshole? I'm a crappy parent. Who thinks things like that? Especially about a baby?"

And the vicious cycle of parenting self-doubt began. Thoughts that I know are ridiculous and irrational competed for space within my brain. They were clunking around, looking for some kind of proof that there was truth to them. Sort of like a bull in a china shop. Knocking over my fragile state as a new parent, smashing to pieces my rational side knows that I can do this. That neither he nor I are an 'asshole'. Instead, we are just people living life. And, sometimes life is not pretty and people are assholes.

A good friend once told me, that if we were to stop and look at the abuse we mentally inflict on ourselves, we would be amazed. We would never talk to others as we talk to ourselves. So why do we have mental domestics with ourselves? I know I would never accuse someone of having an asshole for a kid because they were extra fussy one night. That is just how kids are. Sometimes they suck. Sometimes they are wonderful. Sometimes you are annoyed and at your wits end. Most of the time, though, they are just plain awesome.

P.S. - this was written two days ago. Turns out my screeching howler monkey has an ear infection. It is to the point that his tube has filled and is draining outwardly. So no one really was ever an asshole. Life just happened, and as I said before, it is not always pretty.