My toddler — My enemy

Who’s been training my toddler in MMA fighting, and can I get a refund?

I never knew becoming a mother would mean I was signing on for a life as a punching bag, chew toy, and sparring partner all in one — but apparently I have.

You see, my toddler launches surprise attacks on me on the daily. I never know when they’ll happen, or from which direction. Half the time I react with a shrieky “YOWCH!” even though I know such sounds only entice him further.

I’m easy prey.

But what can I do? I’ve tried time-outs, I’ve tried time-ins, I’ve tried talking, and shouting, and shout-talking… none of it works. Part of me is afraid I’ve just birthed a boxer and this is my life now.

I have become a human bounce house.

8:30 am

My two-year old is awake. I can hear him over the monitor asking for his father.

“Dada? Daddy. Daddy, dada, dadeeeeee… DADDY?”

I rub the grit from my eyes and stumble down the hallway to his room. I open the door with forced enthusiasm :

“Is my little sunshine awake in here?”

He rolls over and glares at me: “DADDY!”

I sigh.