Oh, Blair. Blair, Blair, Blair. Why do you do it?
For the past, um … forever, Blair has been able to go from happy to full-on tantrum in an impressively short amount of time. Like, literally in the blink of an eye. I’m not exaggerating – ask someone who has been around her longer than a few minutes.
Now, I can deal with tantrums. As a seasoned veteran of throwing them myself, having a twin brother who was an AMAZING tantrum thrower, and obviously being Paige’s mom … well, I’m no stranger to trying to diffuse a situation. But with Blair? Things are a little (a LOT) different.
You see, mid-fit (mid-EVERY. SINGLE. FIT.), Blair will turn to me and say in a relatively calm and sweet voice, “Am I being good, Mommy?”
What the what?
(The first time Nani heard her say that, she literally laughed out loud and may have spit out her water. The first time her Aunt EJ heard her say it, she said “Is that a joke?” The first time I heard her say it, I knew that homegirl was messing with my head. Per usual.)
I generally begin by ignoring the question. You know, turning up the radio if we’re in the car, walking out of the room if we’re at home (grabbing her grubby little paws and dragging her out of the store if we’re in public…). However, in her typical Honey Badger style, the question only gets louder and MUCH more aggressive. “MAMA!!!! AM! I! BEING! GOOD?!?!?!?”
At some point (typically 2-3 minutes into said fit),
I snap my patience runs out and I turn to her and ask, “Blair, do YOU think you’re being good?” That question used to quiet her for a second or two, and she would respond with a “No. But I WANT to be good!” Now, after months of this dog and pony show, I usually end up just saying, “Nope. No, Blair. You are not being good. You are not being good even one little tiny bit.” (Other moms, I hope you’re taking notes here – because there’s no way you’re going to win any mothering awards unless you parent just like me. Wait. The opposite of that.)
This quickly devolves into her crying loudly, and following me around yelling “I WANT TO BE GOOD, MAMA! I WANT TO BE GOOD!” To which I inevitably end up saying (in an above-normal-volume), “THEN. JUST. BE. GOOD!!!!”
And thus begins what sometimes can be 40+ minute tantrum (her record is 59 minutes – yep, I time them for evidence to be used against her at an unspecified future time). It’s pretty ridiculous, and at some point I usually end up laughing out loud at the insanity of the situation.
Then I usually cry into my coffee or wine, depending on the time of day (or, let’s be honest – depending on what I have on hand).
Living the dream here, people.
Living. The. Dream.