Fickle Fours

When Robby was born I began to envision what raising him would be like. I imagined a little boy on his best behavior,singing songs and learning his letters and numbers. I pictured us snuggling up to watch cartoons in the evening while wearing our matching pajamas. I always assumed that Robby would be a pleasant little boy.

Having survived the "terrible twos" and the "threatening to my sanity threes" I was looking forward to the "fantastic fours." His being a preschooler, I assumed that I would be able to employ logic with Robby about appropriate and inappropriate behavior. I was wrong!

Robby Rotten has been throwing temper tantrums that are worthy of an Oscar. He is defiant and is seemingly waking up in the morning with the sole purpose of making me miserable. He has begun to hit, push and, for some odd reason, lick me.

He has learned to scream into the intersecting walls of the time-out corner so that the noise echos. He seems oblivious to the "naughty" plaque that has been placed on the wall to reflect his behavior. Toys have been confiscated, privileges have been revoked and punishments have been enforced. I am beginning to feel more like a warden than a Mommy.

My anxiety increases when I have to take Robby Rotten into public places. The other day he began to hit me in the store. I reprimanded him and placed him in a make-shift time out corner. Every time a shopper walked by he began to sob loudly while frantically begging me to "not throw him into the trash again."

I am not sure where he came up with that plea, but it certainly was effective! He received sympathetic and loving glances while I was the recipient of scornful and judgmental glares. It is only January but I am assuming that I am no longer in the running for "Mother of the Year."

I have tried to talk with Robby about his behavior, explaining that he is hurting my feelings. I have tried to provide him with options for letting me know of his displeasure rather than his resorting to screaming and throwing items. My crying seemed to have success, but the results were short lived. We even resorted to popping balloons every time he misbehaved. We quickly ran out of balloons. I am feeling like a parental failure.

Despite the screaming and the tantrums, I have held my ground. I am hoping that Robby soon learns that life is more fun when he is behaving. Robby Rotten, please go away. I miss my sweet little boy.