Psychological warfare is the daily battle ground of a parent. The moment that screaming adorable bundle of joy enters the world you are thrown a sunder by the miracle of life. Caught off guard, you struggle through lessons that only experience can teach. The lost hours of sleep are merely a trial to see if you are worthy for the years ahead. As you endure you will be tested with bio weapons of various bodily fluids and you will develop a stomach of steel. Your veins will run luke warm with java as you learn to juggle your babe and all the things they need.
Your patience will burn as you hold in your agony during the day until the moment your husband walks in the door and you feel like back up has arrived. The buckets of tears you will cry, as your child ages and finds their favorite toy is their mommy jungle gym. You will be decorated with bruises of various colors and scratches that give you pause to wonder “where did that come from”. You will lose your hair, not from stress, but from the strong hands of a toddler that is capable of lifting their own body weight.
A realization will hit you that your house, however small or large, has a tremendous amount of stairs which you will never be able to avoid no matter which level you stay upon. You will learn to curse silently under your breath and roll your eyes in secret. It won’t seem odd at all to put a child lock on the pantry door to hide in the dark; after all you will be well nourished. You will learn what it means to be a “snack bitch” and suffer the wrath of a screaming three year old if you dare travel to the kitchen and forget what you meant to grab. You will feel like a pervert checking your child for wet pants during the potty training years, and you will sport a utility belt with a full canister of Spot shot and baby wipes. Curiously, you will wonder why puppies are easier to house train than an angry toddler.
Bed time will become a dreaded fight for supremacy, and you will question the ethics involved in the use of Gravol to elicit eventual sleep. You will stare at the baby monitor, flinching at every movement or sound you bare witness too, until you grow so tired that your own bed calls to you. Oh the threats you will utter in dire hope that they will never be called into fruition. You will ask pointless daily questions that you never expected to hear yourself say, such as “why are you drinking the toilet water?” Those days of relaxing phone conversations with friends will be inundated with back ground screaming and time outs, shouted into the ears of your listener. Tanks of gas will be wasted while with your kids are strapped firmly into their seats as you get your much needed coffee. You will drive the long way home because they have fallen asleep and you wonder if this will be that cup you can finish before it gets cold. Much to your surprise, you will master the art of bribery and deceit, praying that your kids never learn these secret skills you covet in your arsenal.
Then it happens, you fall victim to your child’s most heinous of weapons, worse than snotty noses, screaming fits or smeared poop on a toilet seat. Your child will approach you with arms extended. They will capture your leg in a surprise embrace, look up at you and say “I love you.” Those words are your kryptonite and you are defeated as you raise the white flag and forgive all the terrible moments of suffrage, until tomorrow.