Collin has a new hobby. I wish it were a cool one, like crochet or Wilton cake decorating. Okay, it could be slightly less gay; maybe he could take up soapbox derby cars or starting fires with sticks. Boys do that kind of crap, right?
Well, instead he's taken up an all too familiar and equally boy-like hobby: hitting. It's his fave! He hits me. He hits Daddy. He's hitting his visiting grandma. He hits poor, defenseless, wussy Eddie. He hits his monkey. Poor monkey just sits there and takes it. What's he going to do really; he's stuffed!
We're putting him in time out more times a day than I can count. It's pitiful. We do the microwave timer to let him know when he can come out. But, we have to strap him into his booster seat to make him stay anyway. The whole thing is really quite pitiful. He waits for the beep and tries to create it himself. To hear your kid wailing, then pausing to say "beep, beep," in this meek, miniature voice, it's almost a heart breaker. Then, when it does go off and he beeps back at it, you pretty much forget that he almost gave you a black eye with the truck he whacked you with a second ago.
He's spending three quarters of his day there right now. Kidding, but it feels that way. Yesterday, I picked him up after three time outs in a row and felt particularly bad because he was sucking wind from crying so hard and I said, "I love you, buddy." He looked right into my eyes and said, "I wuv wu," Awwwwwww. Then, he socked me in the eye. Do you KNOW how hard that next time out was for Mommy? Seriously, I spent it wrapped up in Daddy's arms almost sobbing.
I'm wondering when this stage will end. He's sick right now, so I'm blaming the smack down on his invading toxins. Mostly, I'm doing this because I can't believe that my sweet boy could actually be doing something so vile for so many days in a row of his own free will. He must be being controlled by some vile force. That must be it. It simply must be. I'm ready for it to be over now. When will the timer for this stage go "beep beep."
Well, instead he's taken up an all too familiar and equally boy-like hobby: hitting. It's his fave! He hits me. He hits Daddy. He's hitting his visiting grandma. He hits poor, defenseless, wussy Eddie. He hits his monkey. Poor monkey just sits there and takes it. What's he going to do really; he's stuffed!
We're putting him in time out more times a day than I can count. It's pitiful. We do the microwave timer to let him know when he can come out. But, we have to strap him into his booster seat to make him stay anyway. The whole thing is really quite pitiful. He waits for the beep and tries to create it himself. To hear your kid wailing, then pausing to say "beep, beep," in this meek, miniature voice, it's almost a heart breaker. Then, when it does go off and he beeps back at it, you pretty much forget that he almost gave you a black eye with the truck he whacked you with a second ago.
He's spending three quarters of his day there right now. Kidding, but it feels that way. Yesterday, I picked him up after three time outs in a row and felt particularly bad because he was sucking wind from crying so hard and I said, "I love you, buddy." He looked right into my eyes and said, "I wuv wu," Awwwwwww. Then, he socked me in the eye. Do you KNOW how hard that next time out was for Mommy? Seriously, I spent it wrapped up in Daddy's arms almost sobbing.
I'm wondering when this stage will end. He's sick right now, so I'm blaming the smack down on his invading toxins. Mostly, I'm doing this because I can't believe that my sweet boy could actually be doing something so vile for so many days in a row of his own free will. He must be being controlled by some vile force. That must be it. It simply must be. I'm ready for it to be over now. When will the timer for this stage go "beep beep."
And no, this isn't me, imagining him in prison for violent crime or domestic abuse, years down the line should this behavior continue. This is just Mommy, admiring her gorgeous son, and realizing that he's pretty special anyway, even if he does spend a lot of his day these days, in "the chair." And okay, maybe I'm being dramatic...it's been three days of hitting. I wuv wu too, Peanut.
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