I don’t know how single parents do it.
And by that I mean, how do they ever get to go to the bathroom by themselves? I love my Monster, but I cherish those few minutes without a toddler tugging at my pants saying, “Wipe? Wipe?”
So please know the rest of what I write is in full acknowledgment of the fact that I am lucky to have a teammate for this parenting game – at least for bathroom time.
There are days that my teammate and I are just … how can I explain it?
You know that feeling when all the emotions in your body are gathering somewhere in your fist and it’s all you can do to keep from putting a hole in the wall? It’s like that, but even more annoying because there’s a baby in the house and you refuse to let your child even suspect you’re upset.
This is verbatim a disagreement David and I had this week:
Him: Please don’t take that tone with me.
Me: What tone? I didn’t even say anything.
Him: You know what you did. You sighed so I would hear it.
Me: I breathed heavily to let you know I was annoyed. Yes. I am annoyed.
Him: You’re annoyed because I didn’t drop what I was doing to do what you asked me to do right away.
Him: You couldn’t want two seconds until I had the sandwich in the bag.
Me: It wasn’t just two seconds and yes, when I’m holding the baby and he’s crying and I’m trying to give him medicine and he’s screaming for the crackers, yes, I expect you to drop everything and grab the crackers.
Him: Well, maybe I would do things more if you didn’t give me attitude.
Me: Well, I wouldn’t give you attitude if you would do things more!
All the while, Monster is between us offering one of the crackers as though it’s some kind of peace treaty.
We’re both wrong, and we know it. But we won’t admit it until later in the day by sending some stupid text that says, “I hate when we fight. I love you blah blah blah.”
Being a parent is hard. Being married isn’t always easy. Sometimes all the frustrations you have been harboring boil over and all of a sudden you are crying because he left his wet towel balled up on the bed AGAIN, or he isn’t speaking to you because you didn’t pay attention while he was discussing the latest foolishness some NBA guy tweeted.
The good news is that most days aren’t like that. Some days, it’s David and me vs. the baby, and we can laugh at how ridiculously hard it is to be a parent while the baby lies on the floor having himself a nice little tantrum.
The best days are when we are all somehow on the same team, and no one throws a tantrum. The best days are the ones that get you through the want-to-punch-something days.
The best days are the days you don’t even mind the toddler coming into the bathroom with you.