Toddler Tantrums

This is not the post I had planned to write. Had taken lovely pictures for and mulled over in my head and been thinking about all night. Instead this is an emotionally driven, so tired I can't even think straight kind of post. 

Toddlers. I mean seriously. I almost can't even put it into words - how emotionally charged and dramatic and infuriating they can be. I have to add the disclaimer that when I  say " toddlers", I really only have my own experience with Miss Muffet to draw from. And I will also add the disclaimer that she can be charming and gorgeous and delicious and at the end of the day I love her to pieces. 

At the moment, I just don't like her very much. 

Ugh. That makes me feel so guilty to say that and think that and immediately I feel like a bad Mumma. 

Let me paint the picture. Buttons waking every 2 hours for feeds. Been awake since 5.30am. Raced around getting Buttons fed and Miss Muffet dressed and Buttons dressed and Miss Muffet fed and Buttons fed and Miss Muffet's hair done and teeth brushed and gulped down a coffee and Buttons fed and threw on some clothes and got everyone in the car plus the pram and the front pack. Whoops, no breakfast for Mumma or even brushing my hair- mum bun and birdy wash with baby wipes for me! 

Arrived at Miss Muffet's gym -ON TIME and got everyone out of the car and safely into the building with only a wee detour to jump in puddles on the way. Shoes off and "don't swing on the gate". And finally...: time for the weekly gymnastics class. 

Miss Muffet was not playing the game today. She screamed and threw herself on the ground. And refused to follow the very few rules there are in place- like one at a time on the trampoline and don't take equipment off other people. Did I mention the screaming? Like ear piercing, shrieking, yelling. I tried gently reminding her of the rules. Nope. I tried distraction. Nope. I carried her off to a corner to talk to her quietly and give her some time out. Nope. 

After being there for TEN minutes, I had had enough. I  picked her up under my arm, had Buttons in the front pack and a bag in the other arm. An angel of a mum came and held the door for me and helps wrangle shoes onto Miss Muffet. 

Got everyone back in the car. Shut the door. Yelled at Miss Muffet from the private safety bubble of my car. Burst into tears. 

(Drove off and bought peanut M&Ms from the petrol station. I have since eaten ALL of them)

Miss Muffet is only just 2 with a new baby sister so I should expect tantrums. And I don't care about the cost of the class. It's more the effort to get there and the fact   that she loves gymnastic equipment and is always hanging and swinging from furniture at home. It's more that I need to make friends in this new suburb and it's hard when your child is being  "that child". It's more that I feel out of control and like I am battling with a tiny tyrant and losing on an epic scale. It's that I am so damn tired. And more importantly it's because in those moments, I don't like my child.

As I write this, she is cuddled up beside me and totally happy, babbling and watching some inane cartoon. We have played with her trains and done some washing and read some books. 

Toddlers. I mean, SERIOUSLY.