4 year old check-up (and a confession)

C and D had their 4-year-old physicals today. Here are the stats:

Cary
Weight: 32 lbs.
Height: 39''
BP: 94/61

Dean
Weight: 37 lbs.
Height: 41.5"
BP: 100/62

You read that right - they took their blood pressure this time and also did an eye exam and checked their ears, like big boys! We've come a long way from me bringing two blankets in to the doctor's office to swaddle them in because I was afraid their little preemie bodies wouldn't handle the cold air.

Health-wise, they're both just fine. We are slightly concerned about the way Cary pronounces certain words, and Dr. Bodnar had no explanation for it, so he suggested we seek out a speech therapy program at one of the local colleges. I think we might just do that. Other than that, no real issues.

This visit, however, was extremely trying. (Here comes my confession.)

Both boys acted pure FOOLS and I don't like either one of them very much right now. Cary especially is on my list.

He was SO naughty and obstinate and, it has to be said...assholish ... during the entire visit, I was really quite embarrassed. He wouldn't talk to Dr. Bodnar when he asked him questions, and instead made rude noises or sat with a smirk on his face, while flipping pages of a book or touching any and everything in the exam room. He grunted and pouted instead of using words. He rolled around the room on Dr. Bodnar's wheeled seat. He ran out the door in his underwear. He interrupted me or Dr. Bodnar over and over and over and over. He was such a royal brat, I was stunned.

Honestly, Cary generally has a problem with listening and doing what he's told, and he acts like an ass to people all the time. But I promise you he took it up a few notches today at the doctor. He was THAT kid -- you know the one. The one you see out in public and talk smack about his parents when you leave. The kid you swear your child will never turn out like.

Dean, on the other hand, was lovely and personable until it came time to get his immunizations.
Cary got his shots first, because he's the oldest, and he whimpered a little but didn't cry. It was over in a flash.

Then the nurse turned her needles on Dean and this child SCREAMED BLOODY MURDER AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS, SHRIEKED AND CLAWED AND CRIED LIKE SOMEONE WAS PULLING HIS FINGERNAILS OUT WITH PLIERS!!!

He performed so bad and screeched so loudly for such an extended period of time that my eardrums were ringing (longtime readers might remember that Dean has a VERY high-pitched wail. That has only strengthened over time. Believe me. He could shatter glass.)
When we were walking out, a mother with her two daughters said to me, "Were they in with Dr. Bodnar?" I said yes. She replied, "Oh good, I'm so glad to see they're alive. They sounded like they were DYING."

Please note that Dean screamed so much, so loud and so long, she thought there were two children causing such a horror show ruckus.

His theatrics were a bit embarrassing, and I was a little disappointed in how straight crazy he acted, but I know that fear is irrational, and shots do hurt, so I am not nearly as put out with him as I am his brother.

Folks, I am so over Cary's obnoxia. (I just made that word up.) It's bad at home, worse in public, and never as bad as I saw it today. I honestly want to stay at work now and come home after he's asleep just so I don't have to see him anymore today. It's that bad, people.

I put all this out here on the Interwebs, where there is sure to be judgment and side-eye-slinging, because I need for all of you parents of newborns and toddlers who think -- like I did -- that there's nothing your sweet, adorable, cuddly little child could EVER do to make it so that you could stay mad at them --- I need you to know that you are WRONG!

The day is coming, my dears. Oh, the day is coming.

Thank God tomorrow is another day.

My daughter is giving me fits!

Look at that little face in that picture, happily drawing a pretty little work of art, little peach-colored bows in her hair, smiling away.

Ain't she cute, y'all? So so sweet, right?

Do you want her?

Because seriously.
The 'tude? (Already!) The sass? The defiance? The screaming? The INSUBORDINATION! (That was one of my favorite words from the Code of Student Conduct in school.)

Last night, I told her several times to stop pushing herself away from the dinner table, because she was making a mess with all her food. Finally, I pushed her in (again) and said sternly, "Clair, do not push this chair out from the table again. Do you understand?"

She turned her head away from me -- and sloooooowly pushed her chair out, just a hair, and said, "I can do whatever I want."

I. can. do. whatever. I. want.

Folks, I didn't even know what to do, or say. How does one respond to that coming from a 2-year-old with a runny nose and crazy hair?

I do not know what to do with her, y'all. 

I bought her four pairs of sandals for the spring/summer. She flat out refuses to wear any of them. Screams bloody murder and cries huge crocodile tears, chest heaving, face contorted, "WHY DO YOU ABUSE ME SO MOMMY?! I JUST WANT TO WEAR MY NEEKERS!"

Do you know how many adorable little dresses will not get worn because they won't look right with her big clunky sneakers? Do you know how much time it took me to find just the right pairs of cute little-girl sandals? Do you know how much money it costs to buy four pairs of just the right little girl sandals? Do you know this is my personal horror?! A little girl in the summer without cute little sandals and adorable dresses? Why does Clair HATE ME?

You should have seen how terrible she was to Matty this weekend. She was so mad that he was there, touching her toys, breathing her air. She absolutely WOULD NOT share. Like, not even a little bit. And no amount of bribing, cajoling, praising, or time-outing worked. Her will is iron strong, folks. She's like a war-torn spy or something. She does. not. break.

She's started this refusing-to-go-to-sleep thing at naptime and at bedtime. And as is now par for the course with her, she brings on the drama, crying hysterically, "I DON'T WANNA GODABED!" And Lester melts, holding her in his arms while she fake cries into his shoulder and he rubs her back and looks at me like, "Why are you forcing her to go to sleep at night, Mommy Dearest?"

Last night, after I made her cry it out at 8:15 because she didn't want to go to bed, she was awake again at 11 p.m., crying because she has a horrible case of the sniffles and can't breathe. I wiped her nose, comforted her, sung her a little song, and tried to get her back to sleep, but to no avail. Lester -- ever the sucker for her tiny, tear-stained face -- eventually just brought her into our bed, and there she stayed -- kicking and pulling at the covers and poking me and whispering and kicking some more -- until I finally carried her conked out body back into her crib at FOUR A.M.

Lester's alarm went off at 5 a.m. Cary came into my room at 6:05, whining that his mouth hurts.(Is this the age when kids get molars or something? He seems to have a toothache, which confounds me because I really thought we were past this teething business.) I dragged myself out of bed at 6:15 - missed my morning walk, thank you CLAIR! -- and figured I'd at least have a somewhat quiet morning without Princess Cray-Cray because she would likely sleep the morning away after the night she had.

So when Clair was up at 7:15, I nearly lost it. REALLY? You were up all night! How are you awake already, whining about being hungry and needing water and "Can I watch TV?"

Y'all -- I do not know what to do with her. I always said I wanted my children to have strong personalities, but COME ON.

When I was pregnant with her, all I prayed for was sweet, compliant and healthy. All I got was healthy.

God has a sense of humor, I know. But I am too exhausted to laugh.

Mini-post before bed (or mini-rant, if you like that better)

I am desperately scouring "Your One-Year-Old: Fun-Loving and Fussy" trying to figure out why my son has turned into one big ferocious and frustrating ball of screaming, crying, wanting, needing, nooooooo! not that! noooooo! ma-ma! waaaaaaaah! da-da!! scream, scream, scream, cry, cry, cry, resist, rebuke, wail, flail, angry outbursts, extended temper tantrums, screaming, crying, whining BRAT!!!!!!!

I know it is bad to call your children names, so I won't publicly name which child I have had it up to here with. He knows who he is!

Ugh! When did this start, I don't even know! More importantly, when does it END?

He has been asleep now since 7:30 and I am STILL mad at him. This is unprecedented. Normally, after a particularly bad whine/scream-fest, once they're both fast asleep, I rapidly decompress and without even trying, forgive them of their toddler transgressions.

But I am tense and frustrated and bitter about this behavior. All the books said if I was an attentive, loving, nurturing mother, my boys would be pleasant and well-adjusted. Not BRATS!!!!!!

Ugh!

Now, back to my book. Must get answers.

(Too bad I can't have a glass of wine. Or even a frikkin' brownie. Ugh!! UGH!!)