By PENNY SHIPWAY
I have become that woman.
You know the one. She lives two doors down and she yells at her children.
Until a few months ago I hated that woman. Despised her actually. May have even called out the window to her once or twice, telling her to stop abusing her kids.
Don’t think she heard, though. Too busy yelling at her children.
But things have changed in our house lately. I have changed.
I’m now the proud owner of a two year old.
I say proud because I love her unconditionally. And boy does she make me laugh. My friends think she’s terribly cute.
But when she isn’t being cute, she is terrible.
I don’t think anyone can really explain why a toddler’s tantruming is so upsetting to a parent, unless you have parented yourself.
Children are a part of you and when a child is upset, you get upset. Because simply put, you don’t want them to be upset.
Today my toddler wanted to sit on the coffee table and eat her hummus and carrots, and drink her milk from a cup with a straw – naked.
The naked bit I wasn’t worried about. It comes with the territory of living with a nudist. That bit is OK.
But if you tell her to take her snacks and precariously-positioned milk (just a centimetre from cascading onto my new Freedom rug) to the kitchen table, a war has been waged.