Our Hope For The Future?

For the most part, I like to believe I really have my shit together. I try to keep a healthy attitude about this crazy ride we call life, and for the most part, I'm successful. I mean, don't get me wrong...I have my moments when I go off the deep end (last night being a glaring example...Oscar is still in the fetal position under the bed. He asks you to please send help immediately.) But with the exception of some hormonally-feuled psychotic breaks now and then and the occasional glitch in my self-esteem, I'm otherwise quite balanced. I'm at peace with myself emotionally; I consider myself reasonably intelligent; I have good friends who appreciate my quirky sense of humor. Put it all together and I seem to have the whole package.

There is, however, something about motherhood, or perhaps it's something about being the mother to my particular brand of almost-three-year-old, that makes me wonder sometimes if I'm not as put together as I think I am. I often think, after Turtle has chastised me yet again for not doing something that he specifically instructed me to do and "Holy Hannah, Mommy, what do I have to DO? Spell it out for you? Use smaller words? What?" that maybe I really SHOULD have finished college, because I'm obviously not smart enough to keep up with his Sesame Street-level brain.

It's very lowering to realize that your child, who can't even speak English 100% of the time, thinks you're a flaming idiot. It's so sad, it's almost comical. I spend half the day listening to him impatiently explain, YET AGAIN, what he wants me to do, and "Do you have it this time Mommy? Because if I have to explain this again, I swear, I'm gonna blow!" and then the other half of the day listening to him patronizingly say "Good job, Mommy" when I've managed to do something of which he approves.

And okay, sure, I said that it was kind of good for my self-esteem when he was congratulating me for using the potty properly, but that was before he started rolling his eyes and heaving a big sigh when he had to tell me one more time that my left hand goes on the bottom of the grip to stabilize and my right index finger goes on the trigger. Believe me, the eye-rolling and big sigh-heaving is happening a lot more often than the high-five for figuring out how to wipe my ass.

I'm concerned about this for more than one reason. First, I don't like the idea that I'm raising Turtle to be so smugly superior. I want him to have more patience, compassion and understanding. I don't want him to get pushed around, but I don't want him to be doing any pushing, either. Second, if this goes on much longer, I fear the psychological ramifications. Not for him. For me. I'm walking on eggshells around this kid. If he keeps this up, well, I don't think it will be a very long downward spiral before I'm self-medicating with alcohol and cheap, meaningless encounters with sleazy men. (Hmmm.....! I may have to do that anyway....)

But the biggest red flag for me? THIS is the kid I'm going to be relying on to take care of me in my old age? He doesn't have any patience with me NOW! How bad are things going to be when I can't control my bladder, I think Metamucil is a food group, and he has to spoon-feed me dinner? It doesn't inspire any confidence in me. I know he's only two, but if he can't learn a little more sympathy for my inability to keep up with him, I don't want him to be the one to pick my nursing home. He'll put me in a facility with a contemporary Nurse Ratched. I don't need that kind of aggravation. It's going to be hard enough making sure Oscar doesn't try hitting on the candy stripers before he puts his teeth in every morning.

So I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm thinking it's a little too early for a military academy, and I can't say that they're particularly well known for teaching compassion, anyway. I would go the therapy route, but the kid's already got enough to deal with in therapy without adding this wrinkle. I guess I could try bribery. I didn't have to use the M&Ms to get the kid potty trained. Maybe I should just go ahead and use them to start treating Mommy with some respect. One M&M if he manages to go 5 minutes without the eye roll. Two M&Ms if he can go 5 minutes without the eye roll OR the long-suffering sigh. I'd worry about him gaining a few extra pounds with this system in place, but then again, I know my kid. I doubt he'll be eating enough M&Ms to make it an issue. There has GOT to be a better way. Hey, does anyone know if electroshock therapy is "in" again? Just curious.