Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Better than Prozac

Today has been a challenging day here in the Condon household. Andrew left Monday afternoon on a business trip - we're going to meet him in New Hampshire Friday night... if we all live that long.

I once read somewhere that the toddler/preschool years are referred to as the first "adolescence", well let me tell you something, Bear may not see the second. We had four major blow-outs today. And when I say major, I mean that I am surprised the neighbors don't call the police. Bear is all girl when it comes to her emotions. Hormonal, hysterical, screaming, crying, kicking, throwing, slamming fits are commonplace. Three of today's revolved around me requesting that she wear something other than silky pajama bottom shorts and an undershirt outdoors (for the record it was about 60 degrees and WINDY today). One of the times I asked her to get dressed it was because I wanted to take her to a new park/zoo that we haven't visited yet but one of my bff's raves about. Seriously? Show me one other kid who throws a fit because someone wants to take them to the zoo. The last melt down was over bedtime which finally ended when I called Andrew and had him chat and "snuggle" with her over the phone until she fell asleep.

I am exhausted by all of this. I am also desperately saddened by the screaming and yelling I end up doing. I am adamantly opposed to spanking - no matter the situation - there is a history of physical abuse in my past and I will absolutely not allow that in my home. Tonight, Andrew told me that I verbally hit Bear when I scream at her. I collapsed into sobs. I love my daughter, more than I could possibly ever express in words. But there comes a point when I have been yelled at, and hit, and bombarded with all sorts of flying toys that I forget to be the parent and instead resort to playing the role of sparring partner.

I worry about Bear. I don't know if Bear is a normal preschooler or if she has somehow inherited the dark cloud of depression that used to hover above me. It's no secret that Zoloft is my ticket to participating in life but the thought of medicating a three year old.. Andrew is going to call the pediatrician tomorrow to set up an appointment with the child psychologist, we'll start there.

You're wondering where the "better" part of the title comes in? No it's not in that last paragraph. As I sat on the couch tonight, my eyes raw from crying, my phoned dinged to tell me I had a new email message. Someone had just left a comment on my 100 things post. I didn't know what they were referring to, so I went back and read the post. Then I read all the comments. And laughed. Then I started linking to other peoples blogs. And reading. And the anger and stress of the day started to drip down towards my toes to be deposited on the carpet instead of in my heart.

Thank you.

P.S. Yes I do still actually knit. That will be, gasp, tomorrow's post.