Skip to main content

Power Struggles

What is it about power struggles and going to the bathroom? I know this is only a HINT of what I am going to face come The Rabbit's teen years, and I am terrified.

I can tell when she needs to go...she hops around like, a, well, rabbit, holding herself. But god forbid I would ask her if she needs to go, or worse, TELL her to go. She screams at me like I am asking her to take her beloved stuffed dog and throw him out the window. Or let me wash him.

So we do this: I see her jumping. I say, "Let's go to the bathroom PLEASE." She screams. I back down. 20 minutes later. Repeat. 10 minutes Repeat with escalating voice levels. 12 minutes later, a hurried run to the bathroom and pee streaming down her legs, on to her clothes, her socks, the rug, with her smiling like, "You can't get me."

Short of demanding she clean it up (She's 4...can I do this????? Don't send me hate mail....) I don't know what else to do except keep heading down to the laundry twice a week.

Help.

Comments

Kate B. said…
Yep. We're with you on this one. Except the Small(er) One has now graduated to shouting "I'm going to wee my pants" when I've cruelly refused her whatever happens to be her heart's desire at that very second.

I think it's an attention thing, closely related to a 'ha! I've figured out a way to push your mental mommy buttons'. The cure? Buggered if I know.
Manhattan Mama said…
So when they hit 16 is it going to be, "I'm NOT throwing out my pot!"?????

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...