Tiny Schizophrenics

I'm going to say something that may shock you.

You may think I'm a terrible person. 

But I've managed to do a little unofficial investigation on the subject.  (By unofficial investigation, I mean listening to a lot of moms bitch about the same thing.)

So, I'm quite confident that instead of throwing shoes at my face and shunning me, you will most likely agree wholeheartedly.

Toddlers are mean.

Toddlers are selfish.

Toddlers can be assholes.

I mean assholes in the best sense of the word.

Actually, no I don't.  I mean assholes in the terriblepersonItryandavoid, sense of the word.

I am writing this so that new moms do not feel as if they are doing something wrong when their child turns into a demon at approximately 18 months of age.  

Give or take 2 days.

Facebook would have you believe that toddlers are wonderful, smiley, clean, cute, nice people.

That's true, for about 20% of the day.  

Give or take 20% (In my experience it's always, always take.)

I admit, I'm a repeat offender.  I love to post pictures of Henry and Adeline doing cute things and acting like they don't want to shank each other behind my back.

It warms my heart.

I know it warms my mom's heart when I text her pictures like that.  And then she responds,

"Ohh, look, Henry is such a great big brother!  That's adorable!"  

Ten minutes after this photo he drop-kicked her in the head.

I'm sure other parents can corroborate this story:  

In the 15 minute window before or after every adorable photo, the "so cute" toddler/s had an ear-splitting, jaw-dropping, pants-peeing, vodka-bottle-opening:

Tantrum.

That made you question every choice you've ever made in your life.

**I'm sure that you never imagined yourself coming home from a trip to the pediatrician saying to yourself,

"Shit, there's nothing wrong with my kid."

Because your child was acting so incredibly heinous.  So inexplicably horrible, that your only possible explanation was that there must be some severe physical ailment in progress.

There has to be some form of bodily illness or injury to blame for this behavior.

Nope.  They are fine. 

Healthy as a horse.

That's just their winning personality... 

F-Bomb...Dropped.

**I'm sure you never imagined these words coming out of your mouth:

"I mean, I love my kids, but I just don't like them."

(An admission from a girl sitting next to me in computer training class.  After we had known each other 20 minutes.)

**I'm sure you never imagined yourself googling, "Toddler Multiple Personality Disorder or Pediatric Schizophrenia."

(As did one of the wonderful girls I work with.)

Because you think to yourself,

"My child has a psychiatric disorder.  They must.  That is the only explanation...I gave birth to a tiny schizophrenic."

Our sweetest, most adorable, cuddly parenting fantasies do not include any of the above.

I'm quite positive my parenting fantasies didn't include having flashes in my head of throwing myself off a building screaming, "IT'S ALL FOR YOU DAMIEN," 

as Henry hurls himself across the room in an ear splitting, meltdown.

Because I wouldn't give him a Kraft Single.

But we think that somehow admitting that our child is an asshole too (if only temporarily), reflects poorly on our parenting.

But sometimes it doesn't matter how you parent. 

It doesn't matter if you are Dr. Sears-Weissbluth-Murkoff-Poppins.  

It doesn't matter if you anticipate every hunger pang.  Every sleepy moment.  Every irrational toddler fear.

Sometimes they will just flip the fuck out.

But I promise there is a silver lining.

Like every relationship you had in college;

Sometimes the people that love you the very most, treat you the very worst. 

Because they know you will never leave them.

I imagine parenting is a little like self-mutilation.

It's horrible and messy and dysfunctional.  

But somehow it just feels really good.