When Things Get Out of Hand…


At the very outset, let’s get this clear: this post is NOT about how to cope when things get out of control. Nope, not at all. This post is a true blue rant. A moping and complaining session, if you will. Everyone needs one from time to time. Right now, I am due for a bleeding long one.

There, you have been warned. Stay clear if you don’t like to hear mums whine and feel sorry for themselves. Still here? Okay, let’s start, shall we?

So, things are a little out of control in our household. I am good at underplaying, aren’t I? Sh*t has hit the roof, my friends. Without any shame whatsoever, I hereby admit that my daughter, right now, is one hell of an out of control hurricane and I am pulling my hair out to try and match her energy level. Gone are the days when I tried to stay one-up on her. She has left me far, far behind and I am whizzy panting like a mangy fox trying to catch up with her.

What on earth is up with her? I mean, how in the name of the lord can someone have SUCH levels of energy and maintain that state consistently for 13-14hrs every single day? Is she on baby crack? Has she sworn to drive the living daylights out of me? Is she my nemesis in disguise whose main maksad (goal) in life is to never ever give me a moment of peace to work?

Guys, the struggle is real. I am struggling with each and every minute of the day when she is awake. And to my horror, she is sleeping less and less. She is the living embodiment of the cliché ‘I woke up like a ninja.’ Trust me, she does! She jumps out of bed, not wanting to spend a nanosecond more than she needs to and starts with her high octane activities before even batting a perfectly lashed eyelid.

She wants something to eat the very second that she is up. This might seem like exaggeration and I can’t tell you how badly I wish it was. But it’s the truth. She goes mental in the time that it takes me to jog to the kitchen and give her a handful of raisins or something. She powers through tiny courses of breakfast and I find myself holding my breath, ready to jump up and rustle up another course in my desperation to avoid the day starting with a serious meltdown. So her breakfast consists of raisins followed by dry cereals followed by porridge followed by some smoothie followed by some more dry fruits. And no, she doesn’t wolf everything down. She is a pint-sized food taster slash dictator who samples each course before pushing it away and screaming for the next. A bloody mini Gordon Ramsay! And on the one occasion when I woke up early and got all of it ready before the little madam even woke up and set the table in her honour, she decided she wanted none of it. She point-blank refused to even open her mouth for any of that fare and settled for a piece of dry toast instead.

But breakfast isn’t the hardest part of the day. Not even close. The hours between lunch and dinner make me want to throw in my towel, get my head tonsured and give it all up for the simple life of monkhood, I kid you not! It’s not even a cute high energy kid time of the day. Between lunch and dinner, Gini just metamorphoses into a needy, broody, annoyed, annoying, inconsolable grump who can only be made to behave in the slightest if bribed with a candy or an ice cream. And I absolutely refuse to do it more than once a week. Absolutely refuse to do it even if it means locking myself in the bathroom while she pounds on the door, throws herself down on the floor and wriggles around like a worm. No form of reasoning works. And god forbid if I should dare to enter the kitchen. She just goes flippin’ mental! How on earth does that work? How do I fix the family’s dinner if I don’t go in the kitchen and potter around? She hangs from my legs as if hanging on for dear life and says, “Mama go outside kitchen” on a loop till I scream in frustration and concede. I have come to my wit’s end but a solid reasoning for this behaviour still eludes me. One thing I know for sure – I have to move my cooking duties to a slot earlier in the day when she isn’t around or is napping.

Don’t even get me started on bedtime. I was beginning to physically dread bedtime so bad that my dear, dear husband stepped in and took that horrid duty out of my hands. But know this – it takes him an hour of being in her room every evening to get her to sleep.

I could go on but I am exhausted from a day of getting mostly everything wrong. I can’t wait to sleep and get this day behind me. Thanks for listening, you all! And if you have any tips, any whatsoever, please talk to me!

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