I feel very ashamed to admit this, but my fuse with G is about a millimeter long. Far, far, far shorter than it is with N and M. And I hate this.
I hate it that he has the uncanny ability to set me completely off by his whining. I hate it that I can't just shut it out. I hate it that when he wakes me up at 6:00 a.m. every morning and then wants to lean on me when I'm eating my english muffins and drinking my coffee that I shrug him off and become highly irritated (and irritable) that he keeps wanting to make physical contact. I hate it that I feel like I am constantly apologizing to him for yelling. I hate it that at least once a day my blood pressure feels like it sky-rockets off the charts because of him just being him.
The only thing that brings me any solace is remembering my mom and my brother when he was a kid. The blowouts those two would have. The time when I heard him making a "glug,glug" sound in the tub when he refused to cooperate with bath and getting the soap out of his hair and mom just dunked him under water. His near constant ability to poop in his pants even after mom asked him repeatedly if he needed to go (which G seems to have inherited from him). How at least once (and probably more often) a wooden spoon was broken (over his head? his butt?) when mom went after him. How my Uncle E referred to my brother as "Turd" for reasons that I fully get now that I am an adult and a mother of a son who also qualifies as a turd.
My brother turned out to be a decent, normal guy. A man who has a good relationship with his mother. A father who has sons who also push his buttons in maybe the same way he pushed my mom's buttons. In the same ways that G pushes my buttons.
Every day I strive to be more patient with G, to not allow him to set me off. And every day I fail.
Miserably.
I hate it that he has the uncanny ability to set me completely off by his whining. I hate it that I can't just shut it out. I hate it that when he wakes me up at 6:00 a.m. every morning and then wants to lean on me when I'm eating my english muffins and drinking my coffee that I shrug him off and become highly irritated (and irritable) that he keeps wanting to make physical contact. I hate it that I feel like I am constantly apologizing to him for yelling. I hate it that at least once a day my blood pressure feels like it sky-rockets off the charts because of him just being him.
The only thing that brings me any solace is remembering my mom and my brother when he was a kid. The blowouts those two would have. The time when I heard him making a "glug,glug" sound in the tub when he refused to cooperate with bath and getting the soap out of his hair and mom just dunked him under water. His near constant ability to poop in his pants even after mom asked him repeatedly if he needed to go (which G seems to have inherited from him). How at least once (and probably more often) a wooden spoon was broken (over his head? his butt?) when mom went after him. How my Uncle E referred to my brother as "Turd" for reasons that I fully get now that I am an adult and a mother of a son who also qualifies as a turd.
My brother turned out to be a decent, normal guy. A man who has a good relationship with his mother. A father who has sons who also push his buttons in maybe the same way he pushed my mom's buttons. In the same ways that G pushes my buttons.
Every day I strive to be more patient with G, to not allow him to set me off. And every day I fail.
Miserably.
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