Tiny Terrors

You know that saying “…if you love something set it free” blah blah blah?  Yes well…you’re not allowed to do that with toddlers.  Nor can you rationalize,  threaten, plead or  silently will them into submission.  Once the little crazy switch in their brain has been activated you must simply ride out the insanity and pray that you aren’t  in a public place when the tantrum occurs.  (This is the least likely scenario as crazy/out of control toddlers appear to enjoy and even flourish when an attentive audience is present)

Because I was so neurotic, anxious and tense during the infant phase of my daughter’s life, I was really looking forward to the toddler stage. (Indeed I didn’t  recognize an idiot when I saw one in the mirror) Strangely, I felt that I would actually excel in this area, becoming more relaxed and comfortable with a child I could interact with, rather than the lopsided relationship I had experienced with a  demanding and ungrateful baby.

As mentioned above, it’s a foolish mother who believes that she can rationalize with a toddler. It soon became apparent that I had once again  misjudged the bewildering level of lunacy that accompanies a child of this age.   After many  years of careful reflection – I believe it is safe to suggest that raising a toddler is similar  to training an unruly puppy.  They are tiny monsters at this age – unreasonable, inconsiderate and mercurial.  Gone were my visions of quiet hours spent happily reading together – or just any sort of quiet time period.  I was entering the realm of utter chaos.

After I finished my 2 year college program in Surrey, I moved back to Vancouver Island and commenced employment at a law firm in Nanaimo.  The lawyer I worked for was an asshole who had no children of his own (I am in no way implying that this made him an asshole, he would have maintained his asshole status even IF he had fathered children) and he would often show up at my desk 5 minutes before I was to depart for the day insisting that extra work needed to be completed for the following morning.  I was never paid for these extra hours as it was assumed (by him) that overtime was included in my  salary.  My girlfriend Kathryn became my saviour during these times, as she would go to Faryn’s daycare and retrieve her until I was finally able to leave the office.  Did I forget to mention that I hated this sadistic little man?  His law firm was in a beautiful heritage home.  Part of the problem was space (or lack thereof) and we were  forced to be creative when it came to storage options.  All of the diarized files that needed to be filed away by the receptionist were kept on a shelf in the washroom.  This man took great pleasure in going into the bathroom with a newspaper or document tucked under his arm – taking a ginormous dump and then sending our poor receptionist into the washroom immediately afterwards to gather all of the files for filing. This man clearly hated women. (Please note that my comments only represent THIS particular lawyer.  I have worked for wonderful lawyers and have a retired lawyer friend whom I adore…)

One weekend my girlfriend Kathryn accompanied me to the mall so that she could watch Faryn while I was treating myself to a haircut.  Our outing did not get off to a good start as Faryn was in a pissy mood, for no reason other than that she felt like being a tiny tyrant.  We decided it would be wise to seat her in a shopping cart so that Kathryn wouldn’t lose her or have to chase her around the mall.  I was sitting there blissfully enjoying a few moments of pampering when my hair stylist looked up and said:

Hairstylist:      “OH MY GOD, look at that poor woman!” 

I lifted my head just in time to see Kathryn conducting a frantic “drive by” the salon window with my SCREAMING child seated in front of her in the shopping cart.  Kathryn had this look of sheer  desperation on her face and while I couldn’t hear anything, I could in fact see my daughter’s tonsils – she was obviously screaming so loudly.  Her face was red, covered in tears and snot and she was flailing her arms around in an effort to beat my friend senseless.   In a panic, I put my head down pretending not to notice.  I ended up leaving the salon with wet hair after about the 5th “drive by” since  I simply couldn’t keep pretending that I didn’t know who these people were.  Faryn was evidently screaming for ice-cream (don’t we all?) and nothing was going to satisfy her until she got what she wanted.  We made the misguided decision to take her into a restaurant and placed her in a high chair, both of us heaving a huge sigh of relief as she sat there content for the moment surveying her new surroundings.  We both ordered food and I asked for a side plate so that I could share mine with her.  I filled her sippy cup with milk and we were enjoying the peace and quiet for a few seconds before the monster once again reared its ugly head.  This tantrum was unprovoked and irrational, she clearly didn’t like the food (or the present company for that matter) and she began to scream once again for ice cream.  It is impossible to pretend that a child isn’t yours when they have you in a headlock and are screaming and spewing into your face.   In a dramatic sweeping motion, (Joan Crawford would have been clapping gleefully) she cleared her high chair of food and sippy cup, all of which went flying off the tray and onto the floor.  We quickly asked for our food to go and departed before things progressed any further.  This soon became the story of my life – embarrassing  and hasty exits…

This was a particularly lonely time for me.  None of my friends had children (they being much wiser and probably on more reliable birth control than I was) and I was often left feeling slightly resentful that they could just be impulsive and do what they wanted, while everything I tried to do required endless amounts of planning and paraphernalia.  The rational side of me understood that this was of course my decision to have a child so young, however; I still felt alienated and to a certain extent – trapped.

I soon came to dread even opening my eyes on any given morning.  There was always this mad rush to wake the tiny monster and then endless minutes spent trying to coax her into the washroom, brush her teeth, get her dressed (she wanted to wear her pink Power Rangers track suit EVERYDAY, she had only ONE) then feed this child who refused to eat anything healthy no matter how creative I was with the presentation, before flying out the door to drop her off at daycare so that I could get to work on time.

Even though Faryn had been walking for ages, it was still easier to take her places in her stroller as I had no faith that she wouldn’t just run off and be abducted by a lunatic or get hit by a car.  Her stroller was one of those sturdy affairs complete with canopy and storage.  With the canopy up, I couldn’t actually see her in there unless I stepped around to the side – something which worked particularly well on the days that I was pretending I was either the nanny or that I didn’t actually know who this screaming child belonged to.  We were in Woolco  which for those of my reading audience who are younger,  was like Wal-Mart but not nearly as nice, bright and well-organized.  In fact Wal-Mart actually bought out Woolco in Canada – while it was in the early stages of taking over the world.   Regardless, I was wandering around the store enjoying the fact that my child was actually asleep for once and I could stroll  in leisure.  I had the few items I was purchasing on the canopy of the stroller which I paid for and then left the store.  I was wandering through the rest of the mall when I happened to stop and move around to the side of the stroller to check on Faryn.  At first I wasn’t sure what I was seeing, and then I let out an audible squeak when I realized what she had done.  I immediately raced back to Woolco and flew over to the customer service desk panting and embarrassed.  My daughter had indeed woken up during our visit to Woolco.  The reason she had been so quiet was because as I was browsing, particularly in the cosmetics department, she had been busy shoplifting items and storing them in her stroller.  She had about 6 large boxes of a fragrance I hated called Enjoli.  (An 8 hour fragrance for the 24 hour woman!) As I was unloading these onto the customer service desk, I also found 2 glass ashtrays (seemingly in anticipation of the heavy smoker she was planning to become) and to make matters worse, she was actually sitting on a box of hot rollers.  I was never able to figure out how she managed to acquire these items so quietly (and with such stealth) particularly since her movements were somewhat restricted by the seatbelt that was strapping her into the stroller.

My daughter who is now 31 never tires of this story –  and laughs hysterically when I describe how mortified I was as I stood there in that store, digging item after item out of her stroller while the customer service woman had tears rolling down her face she was laughing so hard.  It seems unfair that there hasn’t been any karmic retribution to date – but I’ll be waiting for it…

Author: davidson200

I have been writing for as long as I can remember...Always losing confidence in my words shortly after they were written - I would soon just give up and set my words aside. I started this blog for two reasons; the first so that I could try to reach other “not so perfect” parents through humor - to share my mistakes and the doubts I felt concerning my ability to parent alone at such a young age. My message is clear - it’s ok to be an imperfect parent! My second reason was to actually share my words with others, something I have never attempted in the past. The positive feedback I have received has given me the courage to continue writing and sharing my story. This blog makes me feel like a writer - finally... View all posts by davidson200