Mom-Friend Blocked

I’ll get back to my word of the year posts but today I need to get off track and talk about my beautiful, wonderful, totally driving me insane (insaner) two year old. Two and a half. There’s a difference. See, three is coming hard down the track and the last few weeks have seen an uptick in the kind of borderline sociopathic tendencies only a two and a half year old can muster. Generally it’s fine. I’m a bit more stressed. He’s a bit more unpredictable-might-push-someone-down-the-stairs-on-a-lark-just-stepped-on-the-cat-for-absolutely-no-reason. So, you know, not too bad.

But today I hit my limit because he’s acting like a total twouche bag and it’s interferring with my ever-present quest for more mom friends. Or, like a mom friend who isn’t related to me or who I haven’t known long enough to be able to blackmail into staying my friend no matter what.

Yes, it’s true. My kid totally mom-friend blocked me.*

I’d been eyeing her up most of story hour. Today’s mom crowd was intimidating…very blonde, very skinny, and very designer. You know, all things that leave me unable to converse like a normal human being. I have never been and will never be cool and these moms were cool. Possibly Cool with a capital C (this is all entirely my own baggage I know but I can’t help it. There’s a reason why I have a therapist, however she’s in Ireland this week and thus completely useless).

But this mom? She seemed different. More chill, less real housewives. She had picked out books not dissimilar to what I’d chosen for my kids (which I “casually” tried to display for her benefit) and from the conversations I overheard, her sarcasm game was on point. Anyone who mentions a crowded playhouse is good practice for concerts in college IS MY PEOPLE. Baby moshpits? HILARIOUS! Her oldest was even about the same age as my oldest. It was kismet. Meant to be. I could practically taste the margaritas we’d sip on girls night at the crappy Mexican restaurant up the road. We’d be best friends and our kids would play nicely together during morning playdates while we sipped coffee, laughed it up at our entirely uncool inside jokes. She would never judge me for calling my kid a twouchebag and I’d look the other way when her kid started licking the window.

And then, as I was working up the nerve to come at her with a witty mom-friend pick up line like, “come to story hour often?” (I told you I wasn’t cool), my massive 99th percentile two year old turned around and shoved her tiny maybe 18 month old kid out of the playhouse, onto the floor, then slammed the door behind him. On another kids finger.

Kill. Me.

Her son cried. The other kid cried. I shrieked. Actually shrieked out loud. Because as soon as he slammed that door, the tiny psychopath LAUGHED. He laughed. THIS IS NOT MY KID! THIS CAN’T BE MY KID!

“GENTLE! HANDS! WITH! FRIENDS!” I managed to choke out but because the playhouse is a.) packed with kids and b.) the size of a smurf house, I couldn’t extricate him for a proper time out. And the little turd knew it, smiling merrily as he dodged my arm blindly snatching at him through the window.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry. Oh God I am so sorry, APOLOGIZE NOW!!!!”

She cemented my unshared devotion to our imaginary friendship when she countered with, “it’s fine he’s very durable.” The other kid had miraculously recovered before any parents noticed. Thank God.

I eventually managed to get a “sorry” out of my kid and let him off with a strong warning. Another incident and we’re out. Not 2 minutes later 2 MINUTES! He was hugging his new friend and by hugging I mean he had him in a full on choke hold and was dragging him around the floor. The floor that I wished to God would open up and just swallow me and my incorrigible child. At that point I turned into a contortionist, yanked my kid out of that stupid house and dragged him out of the library.

Needless to say, no new mom friends were made today. She seemed really cool but no mom can let such egregious misbehavior go that easily. I wish I’d met her when he just turned 2 and was not a holy terror in public. Or maybe in like 6 months when he’s 3….oh wait no, I’m pretty sure 3 is worse. So the search continues for a new mom friend. Maybe at a different library.

 

 

 

*I was going to use a more…descriptive term for this but then I remembered I only JUST started getting blog followers who aren’t here out of pity or because they’re related to me and I’d rather not start losing them already.

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