The farther this pregnancy goes on, the less patience I have with, well, everything. This includes for my daughter.
So when she wiggles away from a hair brush, I manhandle her head of hair into a pathetic sort-of-ponytail that gets her by until I take her to daycare. Here they will, out of sheer pity I am sure, gently, swiftly and with no resistance whatsoever, create the cutest hair-do EVER that she then comes home in.
When she is sick and miserable but wants outside in barefeet to play in her new water/sand table, I let her. It’s just so much easier that way. Then I close the glass sliding door because I am cold and watch her from the comfort of my cozy couch.
When she finds scissors that are real scissors, not the totally lame-o kiddie ones, and realizes they are really sharp and really cut things, I willingly hand over a few pieces of paper and let her cut away while I play on Facebook. Thirty minutes of silence, a few Lexulous moves, and only one or two nicks of the pants later, I call it a successful craft!
When she tantrums one morning and refuses to walk to daycare, I cave and let her pull that damn clicking wooden alligator even though it is 7:45am and we wake the whole neighborhood because even though ‘clicking’ sounds sweet enough, it ‘CLICKS’ louder than a lawnmower.
Still, I suspect it is a few decibels quieter than the alternative of a tantruming toddler and a 7.5 month pregnant momma screaming “ARE YOU KIDDING ME DEVIL CHILD?!!” while we make our way through the neighborhood.
Patience may be a virtue but mommy’s sanity supercedes.