(Asking for a Friend... It’s Me. I’m the Friend.)
Hiya, lovely humans.
Just popping on for a quick check-in-slash-vent-slash-cry-for-help.
This week? It’s been a week. You know those ones where you’re not sure if you’re parenting or surviving an extreme sport? That.
My girly, my wild, wonderful, feral little three-year-old, is absolutely gorgeous inside and out. She’s all fire and fierce independence and joy in its purest form. And trying to get her to do anything that she NEEDS to, is also the reason I ended up crying at the school gates this morning. Again.
Let me paint you a picture.
This morning started with a firm refusal to brush teeth. No to brushing hair. No to clothes. No to walking down the stairs. No to doing ANYTHING that didn’t involve playing with her toys. She only went for her morning wee because I said I needed to go and she wanted to get there first. Once I did manage to get clothes on her, not uniform obviously but all of the important bits were protected (winning!), she whipped them straight off and tried to leg it to the car starkers. This kid is never a fan of wearing anything other than her own sense of freedom but we can usually negotiate at least underwear… not today.
She had a bit of breakfast, then nothing else, because I wouldn’t give her more until she’d brushed her teeth. (You know, the ones I’m trying desperately to keep from turning black and hurting her tiny, stubborn little face.)
I finally got her into the car, into school, and then promptly burst into tears. The lovely teacher smiled and said, “Oh no, what has she been up to today? She’s so good when she’s here.”
Now, I know that’s meant to be reassuring. I know that her saving all her chaos for me means she feels safe. That I’m her soft place to land. But still, at that moment, all I could see were other kids in cute little plaits and sparkly bobbles, while mine looked like a half-dressed wildling who’d been dragged through a hedge backwards!
The logical part of me gets it. She’s testing boundaries with me because she trusts me. But the emotional part? It just feels like I’m failing. Daily.
And here’s the kicker: I don’t want to teach her that “no” means nothing. I want her to grow up knowing her body, her choices, her boundaries matter. But I’d also quite like her to have teeth. Preferably ones that don’t rot. And maybe wear clothes when we leave the house.
Gentle parenting? Sounds amazing. But honestly, I’m not convinced it’s designed for a child like my girly. She’s not a child; she’s a teeny tiny chaos monster. She cannot be bribed. She laughs in the face of consequences. I once took away her iPad and she gave me a filthy look and walked away singing. SINGING. She’s terrifying.
I love her. Fiercely. She really is joy in human form. But when that switch flips (usually when I am anywhere near her and definitely when we have to do anything), she grows metaphorical horns and becomes… something else entirely.
And everyone else? They think I’m exaggerating. “She’s so sweet!” they say. “She’s so well-behaved!” And she is, with everyone else.
So, to any other parent who’s cried this week, who’s felt like they’re failing, who loves their child but also wants to book into a hotel and stay there for a week, I see you. You’re not alone. You’re doing better than you think. And we both know you won’t do it, because it would be too quiet and you would miss them too much.
Until next time, keep spinning the plates and chasing the squirrels. You’ve got this.
Even if today… you don’t feel like it.
Love,
Mammy Squirrel
