I think I hit the snooze twice this morning; Tuesday’s and Thursday’s I have early classes, which means getting up at 5:45AM. Even though my first class doesn’t start until 8AM, I have to battle morning traffic starting from my street all the way to the school; not to mention dropping my daughter off at daycare. After 8AM it’s normally a ten minute drive to school. But I was actually more awake this morning than I normally am, especially for having to get up so early. And I was in my usual good mood.
It doesn’t take me long to get ready; ten to fifteen minutes, that’s including the shower. I’ll open my daughter’s bedroom door, as most of the time this will wake her up, make my bed, and then go start breakfast. If she hasn’t come into the kitchen by the time I’m done making breakfast, I know it’s going to be a rough morning. This morning was the top of the list of roughest mornings yet. It’s a fairly short list because the list has just been created, but it is starting to grow.
My daughter hadn’t given me any problems when she was two, so I never fully understood the term ‘terrible twos’. It seemed that a few weeks ago, when I dropped my daughter off at daycare and came back to pick her up, I picked up the wrong child. She looked like my daughter, but acted like someone completely different; different attitude, different behavior.
I was actually late to class this morning because of her throwing a tantrum. It wasn’t just for a few minutes either. I couldn’t get her dressed this morning, then I couldn’t get her to eat, nor get her shoes on, her hair brushed. I carried her out the door kicking and screaming only because Grandma was carrying her truck since I couldn’t; my hands were already full with diapers, a screaming child, my drink, and my backpack. I tried to give her the truck only for her to throw it across the seat. I tell her to calm down, it’s okay … but that didn’t help her.
She cried all the way to the daycare. She wouldn’t get out of the car without her truck. I gave her truck to her and proceed to carry her in and she tosses it across the parking lot and starts to scream and cry again. By now I feel like crying. I drop her off in her classroom and say she’s been like this since she got up this morning, I’m so sorry to just leave her like this. My daughter’s wailing gets louder and I say even louder, ‘I’m going to be late for class’. I was stressed and frankly, I was really upset and just wanted to leave; I still had the morning rush-hour interstate traffic to deal with.
She goes to bed around the same time every night, I haven’t changed her diet, she doesn’t drink soda; I’m starting to narrow things down. Then other mom’s with older children start to point it out to me that it’s the beginning of the ‘terrible three’s’. I’m just thinking to myself, “Oh no! I just want my sweet, lovable little girl back! The one that laughs and giggles all the time. The one that goes to bed when I ask her to. This isn’t the child I’m used to having.”
The classes that I am taking this semester make up for my stressful mornings. On Tuesday’s and Thursday’s we talk about the news in my first class, the next class we talk about literature, and then I have creative writing to finish the day. On Monday’s and Wednesday’s class we talk about other cultures. All of them are really great classes.