Peasant Revolt

Is it possible to be just a little exhausted? I know that the definition of the word "exhaustion" conveys the most supreme amount of tiredness possible, and I'm not quite there. But it's close. Very close.

The reason I am a "little" exhausted is because of, you guessed it, my kids. Baylor and Jack are reaching their tantrum-throwing stride a little earlier than anticipated, and it's wearing me out, what with all the kicking, screaming, arching of backs, and even (gasp!) hitting. I knew this day would come. I just talked myself into believing that we wouldn't get there for a few more months, at least until their 2nd birthday, which we celebrate toward the end of March.

But, as usual, my kids are out to prove me wrong, wear me out, and knock me off of my Terrific Mother In Control of Everything Throne.

I like that throne. I just recently clawed myself back into it, even managing a sitting position for a few brief minutes. It is cushy, comfortable, and elevated, and it means I get to look down on all the plebes, struggling with their misbehaving children, and sniff condescendingly, confident in the fact that I, as the name of my throne suggests, have everything in control.

But then I was startled into reality when Baylor started having frequent fits of drama. Jack would be playing with a toy, Baylor would want it, Jack would innocently walk away from Baylor's aggressive advances, and then screaming (on Bay's part) would ensue. Baylor has been pulling the Go-Limp-When-You-Get-Upset-Thereby-Endangering-Yourself-at-the-Hands-of-Your-Own-Tantrum Stunt for awhile now, and we thought we had adjusted ourselves to the fickle nature of his mood by now. Little did we know that he had higher aspirations, louder screams, more spectacular displays of arching his back up his sleeve.

Suffice to say, yesterday I was completely prepared to start officially labeling Baylor as the Tantrum-Prone One and Jack as the Laid-back One. And then Jack pitched a fit and hit me, and all labels jumped out the window in a mad suicide pact.

I have once again been knocked off of my comfortable throne.

The peasants are revolting, and I just barely managed to scrabble away and lock myself in a hidden closet off of the royal chambers. Let's just hope they don't hear my muffled sobs.