I have always wanted to be that nurturing mom. The one who fostered creativity in her child. The one who taught him to look at the world around him and ask questions. To wonder about the universe and all of the mysteries that it holds…
F*** me. I take it all back. 
All of that nurturing, all of that fostering of his hopes, his dreams, his genius… totally freakin’ backfired. I am currently living in the hell known as Why.
I’ve heard parents talk about it and always thought how it would be different for me. I would be patient with him, answering his questions in my calm, serene Mother Earth voice. Telling him about the world, showing him the magic of life… all the while, tending my lush and verdant vegetable garden and sewing our clothes. BLAH BLAH BLAH.
Yeah, Mother Earth hasn’t made an appearance lately, but Mother Exasperated, Angry and Impatient certainly has. I’m not proud to say it, but the Why’s drive me up a freaking wall. And I WISH that it was something as simple as, “Mama, why is the sky blue?”. I could come up with answers for that! I would tell him about the atmosphere, Rayleigh scattering, the absorption of blue rays and the length of blue versus red, yellow, etc. Those questions are just so damn easy…
Instead it’s the rhetorical “Why”. The one that he expects an answer to, but there really isn’t one.
“Drew, you need to go sit on the potty.”
“Why?”
“Um, because otherwise you’ll wet your pants.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll have an accident?”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t have the bladder control to hold it for longer than another 5 minutes and WHY WON”T YOU JUST SIT ON THE GODDAMN POTTY?”
“Why?”
Oh. My. God. *beats head against wall*
This goes on all day long. When I tell him he needs to go take a nap, when he needs to pick up his toys, when he needs to stop being a raging a-hole and OMG STOP STOP STOP.
Why Mommy?
And when I tell him to stop asking why he changes tack.
“Why do you say that to me Mommy?” “Why do you act that way?” “Why do you DO that?”
Shit. Self reflection brought on by my preschooler? He’s going to be a g*ddamn therapist when he grows up.
Help. Send wine.
