Good Boy, Naughty Boy

I feel like tearing my hair out. Cry in frustration. Bang my head against the wall. Most of all, I want to hide. Make myself invisible.

All for being a mother to a 19-month old toddler who seems to be in the bullying mode. Mummy-bullying mode to be exact.

I’ve heard of his good behaviour the whole day. Well-behaved, and in control of his tantrums. That is until I arrived home from work. All hell breaks loose then.

He screams and he shouts. He demands to be carried. He demands I feed him, hold his hand, read, play, change him, and even go to the toilet with him in tow. Nobody else can touch him, and nobody else can touch me either.

The transformation is amazing. I seem to be the key to turn him to the dark side. He can be the sweet, good boy the whole day. But the moment I arrive home, the naughty boy claws the way out to welcome me.

I scratch my head, conjuring reasons to explain his transformation. Everything seems to fit, yet it doesn’t make sense. Perpeptual restless nights and long hours away at the office do not help. By the time I get home, all I want to do is lie down. But I cannot do so, for he demands attention from me. Attention and patience are linited supplies, unfortunately.

I lose my temper and flare up. He melts down and cries. I expend more energy to calm him down. He’s up to his mischief again. The cycle goes on.

I’m teetering at the cliff’s edge. I want to see his good-boy side everyone’s telling me about, but I have the exclusive privilege to see otherwise. I miss him very much away from him, yet I’m afraid to go home. Gosh, what have I gotten myself into?

It seems Daddy is not having it easy too. Our son is officially a Parent-Bully…

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