I started this a few weeks back…it’s still true.

We had a blissful Sunday. Ian and daddy played at the park and we went shopping and watched some of Beauty and the Beast (Ian was riveted). He woke up happy this morning, we had a complete breakfast and headed over to A Magic Forest for the first time to play indoors since it was 90 freaking 2 degrees in Santa Monica on November 5th. Hello, global warming.

It was a hard morning. Ian threw toys. Lots of toys. Ian ate food off other kids plates. Ian had a total meltdown over a juice box because he wanted to squeeze it, which would create a very fabulous purple fountain, and when we put the kibosh on said fountain, he melted. You know those packets of pureed fruits and/or veg for kids that are squeezable? I see those on the shelf and simply marvel that kids actually ingest any of that. Ian sees them as fountain potential only.

I got lots of looks from the other moms. I was sweating profusely and wanted to simultaneously sob and fall asleep. I even had a fellow mama share her own experience with one of her kids that was “like Ian.” It made me feel better and worse.

When we have days like this, I find myself talking about him like a battered girlfriend:

“He’s really nice when we’re alone.”

“He’s just tired.”

“Maybe it’s the time change.”

“I think he’s in pain.”

I try to come up with solutions: Keep him out of the house. Keep him in the house. No TV. More TV. Earlier nap. Later nap.

I think I just need to accept myself, my kid, that this time is just HARD, and get thee to some parenting classes. And I am. Starting next week.

Oh and PS if you want to leave a comment about how this time is so precious and I should enjoy every moment and be grateful that I have a healthy, thriving child, I KNOW that. And I am.  And shut the fuck up. Love, Mandy.