Whoa Mama.

May no one that knows me run into me today.
Except my Mother-in-Law who unfortunately arrived long before above warning.

My girl was a pain in the butt this morning.
Period.

No wait, there's more.

She insisted on getting herself dressed and then idled so much (we had her 3 yr check up scheduled this morning) rolling around on the floor with her head under a step stool, that a battle ensued.
Not pretty.
And as soon as I got the clothes on, she-who-has-her-own-agenda takes them off, then I forced them back on. It was like a bad scene from The Miracle Worker.

Only I was working no miracles.

I want to wear THHHHIIIIIIIIISSSSSS blah blah blah, clock ticking (Oh. Look! she's topless and shoeless, trying to take her leggings off and it is now officially our appointment time. COOL!)

And then I am no longer able to get ready for work, so I guess Mama will just goes to work looking as though her daughter dressed her. I was fuming with frustration, not pretty in many, many ways.

I mildly boiled-over.

And yelling doesn't help but I was not capable of three-year-old whispering today.
Not.
At.
All.
Did I mention I was also up about five times last night? Lily has a cold and a cough and when she does, her sleep is restless. With her tossing and turning she landed on the floor at one point (on pillows - I did get that part right), and the other time I made quick saves in a midnight stupor - robot mama mode on - ready for anything.
But this morning...
Was
Not
Needed.

We made it to her check-up where her cheery, humorous doctor (that I do love) chirped,

Three is harder than two.

Wow.
Really, reallllllly needed to hear that this morning.

Try hard not to fight with her, it'll just make it harder, she said.

Really?
How to respond to that. How to respond to thaaaaaaaaaaatttttt....
Deep breath. Chuckle. Glance at Granny. Laugh.

Ahhh.
Life-with-my-daughter-who-I-love-so-much-it-hurts-but-sometimes-not-in-a-good-way.

Appointment ended on a good note, Lily is off to ballet and I am off to work - bedraggled, exhausted and then forced to walk down Madison Avenue past bright, cheery botoxed bunned manicured moms who chat idly on street corners in 500 dollar yoga outfits sipping ice coffee looking rested and happily staffed with husbands and help, planning their lunch dates and spin classes with energetic applomb.
And there I was, trudging by, with my tired eyes, humidity hair, feeling unattended and raw.

If it's Spring, why doesn't it feel that way.

Upon arriving at work I spoke to a friend who had recently led a support group for moms and babies in a nearby prison.
They have around the clock help.
It takes a village she said.

Check me into that place.

Now.

(ok not really. but... sort of.)