I like to be really honest on this blog which is why I’ve never pretended to be an awesome mother. I like to think I’m a good mum though. Or, at least, I’m not a bad mum.
But something happened over the weekend that I’m not exactly proud of. I debated whether I should share it here, but I feel I need to come clean.
I’m afraid some of you mightn’t come back to visit me after you read this which would make me very sad, but I’d understand. This was not my best moment…
Thud was, quite frankly, being a turd.
I was doing my best impersonation of a wholesome, Pinterest-worthy mother and was trying to paint some easter eggs with my little boy.
How adorable, right!? Mum and son, decorating eggs, having a giggle, paint splotches on our noses, the afternoon sun twinkling through the windows…. sigh… I was feeling smug just thinking about it.
I guess it’ll surprise no one that my 22 month old toddler didn’t want to participate in my daydream. He wanted to smash the eggs.
I took the eggs away.
He wanted to paint me.
I took the paint away.
He wanted to rip up all the newspaper, so that was taken away as well.
He didn’t like everything being taken away, so he picked up a domino and threw it at me.
It hit me fair in the eye.
It hurt. Bad. I got so angry I smacked the back of his hand. Not hard, but enough to get his attention.
That’s not the bad part by the way… it’s still coming…..
His little face fell like I’d just sliced his arm straight off. His head flipped back and he let out a ROOOOAAR of anger. Then he spun around and smacked me in the face.
Without a word, I stood up, gathered everything that was left on the table and walked over to the kitchen bench. I was over it. Hugely.
This was the last straw for Thud. He lept up from the floor and flew at me. Full pelt, head down, raging bull style.
His head went straight into my thigh with such force that he bounced. He bounced straight off that thigh like a tennis ball. He literally ricocheted off my leg.
He sailed through the air in a neat little arc and landed on his bum and then fell backwards, flat on his back.
And then…. here it is people…..
Actually I snorted. I clamped my hands over my mouth and held that giggle in because I was still angry and wasn’t about to turn this whole thing into a joke. But HOLY SHIT, watching that little person bounce off me did something to my brain and I really struggled to compose myself.
Of course, I immediately felt like the worst person in the world because he was even more hysterical now. He was howling like a wolf with its leg in a trap. I looked down at my little boy with the tears running down his face and felt awful for him.
But then… I laughed again….
BOO HISS! SHE’S EVIL.
People, picture it…. he was flat on his back, like a turtle trying to turn himself over. I’d put an old t-shirt of mine on him as an art smock but on him it looked like a dress. My little turtle in a t-shirt dress, arms and legs kicking and flailing while he bellowed like a moose.
IT KEPT GETTING FUNNIER. It was like something out of a Roadrunner cartoon.
What can I say? I’m an awful, awful person. What kind of cold-hearted bitch laughs at their small crying child? My heart hurt for him at the same time as my mouth laughed. I couldn’t stop myself. HE WAS RIDICULOUS. And it was self-inflicted, so he kinda deserved it.
I tried to tell the Sarge about it later that night and I laughed again. He looked at me like I was demented. Maybe I am….
People falling over is the one thing that always makes me laugh. Unless I can see the person is genuinely hurt, I can’t help myself. It’s always funny.
I always knew I was a bit warped, but I assumed I’d be able to override it with my own child. But no. Seeing my tiny boy in his own slapstick routine was funny as hell.
This can’t be normal….