When Nonna was 2, daddy was still property of the state, and it was just me and her against the world. Muffin was just a twinkle in my eye at that time. I was only about 700 some odd days into mommyhood when this little beast tried to test me. I was ill equipped to deal with my mini me and her viscous games of manipulation and mommy mind control. I was a stressed out, over worked, over scheduled single mom. She was a 2 year old.
It was a hot summer day and I was late for work. I was always late back then because I was stuck in the single mom/single child time warp. I say this because before I had Muffin I could never get anywhere on time. I was intimidated by people with more than one kid, how the fuck did they do it? I wouldn't find out for a bit yet. Anyways, I was always late and Nonna was never any help. She'd insist on taking her clothes off right before it was time to leave, or shit her pants, or take her hair down, or go and get all fucking wet in the sprinkler while I was trying to take the trash out or load up my car. Whatever it was to make me late, I believed she was doing it and on purpose.
The straw that broke this mama's back was a pair of pink womper stomper snow boots. You know the type, every kid has a pair, like the ones Rainbow Bright used to wear. I'm trying to get her out the fucking door and on our way to Auntie's house and she goes in her room and takes off her little sandals I put on to match her little dress and puts on those god damned boots. I'm like, "Nonna you cant wear those boots, its 100 degrees outside," she's like "no!" a 2 year olds favorite word I know, but fuck if that didn't set me off. I tried to reason with her, really I did, but she was having none of it. After about 45 seconds of that shit, I was livid. So I get to yelling at her and trying to take her boots off and she's freaking out and screaming "no,no,no". Every time I tried to put the sandals back on, she'd arch her foot and curl her toes and wriggle away from me and run off with the boots.
Now I'm sure there are those of you wonder mommies out there who have already a whole list of how I could have handled this situation, but I had none of you then. I was just trying my best to be the best I could be and she was working actively against me. I know that I should have just took her to my sister in law in whatever state of dress or undress she was in, I shouldn't have cared if she was wet or if her hair wasn't done. But I did. I barely ever got to see her, I worked 65 hours a week back then. I felt like she didn't love me when all I was doing was working myself to death to take care of her needs. When I dropped her off at my brother's for Auntie to watch her, she didn't cry. When I picked her up she would though. She treated me like I was her sitter and Auntie was her mommy. Auntie took such good care of my baby girl, I am forever in her debt for that, and so much more. She taught me how to be a mommy just as much as my mommy did. But Nonna was there soo much that I felt like the least I could do was make sure she was dressed, hair done, presentable and well packed and ready for her stays at Auntie's while I worked.
This was why the boots were such a big deal. Not only was it way too fucking hot for me to let my kid go running around in a pair of pink foam snow boots, they were really very ugly when paired with the dress. And I didn't want her Auntie to have the burden of Nonna getting heatstroke cuz her mama didn't know how to dress her baby for the conditions. So we fought. We yelled. We wrastled around on the hardwood floor. Finally, I picked her up, grabbed my purse and her diaper bag and tossed her in my camaro. I'll never forget it. I yelled, "You can't treat me like this, I'm your mama!" As I was trying to buckle her while she did everything in her power to not be buckled into her car seat, my mom called. I said "See now my mama's on the phone and I'm telling on you! I'm her baby and she aint gonna let you get away with this!'
Ha. Ha. My mom heard the screaming toddler in the background and asked if everything was okay and I told her hell no it wasn't and filled her in on the situation. This is when my mother gave me some of the best advice I have ever received on parenting. She said: Let the girl wear the fucking boots. Every kid has a pair of fucking boots that they want to wear till their mamas go crazy. It won't hurt her and it's not a fashion contest at Auntie's. She said, she is just a baby. Give the baby a pass. She wont even remember this part of her life. ( Very true since I know that I sure as hell can't remember being 2.) At this point, I was speeding down the freeway screaming into the phone at my mom "But that's bullshit mom, she's fucking with me on purpose, just get on the phone with her and tell her to leave me alone!" And Nonna is still in the backseat crying and sweating in my car with no A/C and her fucking snow boots in the middle of the summer. Mom told me all I had to do was keep her alive and relatively happy and that I was a good mom. "Don't traumatize the girl over some boots."
Mom wouldn't talk to Nonna, said she said all she had to say to me and that I needed to be the mama and hung up on me. By the time I got to Auntie's I was crying and Nonna wasn't. I unbuckled her, and walked into the house with mascara all over my face and here comes Nonna behind me taking big giant moon walking stomps in her moon boots. She sat directly down on the couch and tried to take the boots off now that she had reached her destination and supposedly won the argument. I told Auntie on her since telling Honey hadn't helped. Auntie said, "nuh uh Nonna, you gonna wear them boots all day now that you got your mama crying over them, you can't take them off." She made Nonna wear the boots all day too.
When I picked her up she refused to put them back on and when we got home she asked me if I could put them up. I did so gladly. We never went through the moon boot fiasco again thanks to Auntie making her have her boots and wear them too. We've had plenty of battles since then but I learned a lot about momdom that day. She may reduce me to a screaming, crying, fit throwing mama who has to act like a 2 year old to make her see the error of her ways, but I know that I am the mama and she is the kid. She still likes to make me late.
I learned that she is still just a baby, even though she's almost 6 now. She is still alive and relatively happy, so I guess I'm doing an alright job. She still tests me, she always will I guess but I'm better prepared to deal with her knowing that she just can't help it, she's just a kid. I just can't help it either I'm just a mama. We still fight, over lots of things like clothes and bed time and sharing with her sister. But I still remember that all I really have to do is keep her alive and relatively happy. I don't always win every battle, but I will win the war. I'm still trying to be the best mama I can be and she's just being a little girl. She still hates boots too.
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