It's not easy being mean

Have I yet praised the Lord for my post-partum depression medicine? Praise, praise, praise the Lord.

Trey. My baby Trey. A few months after Trey was born, I made up this song for him and continued to sing it to him as he has grown up.

I love this boy, I love him so
Sweetest boy that I ever did know
I love this boy, he is so sweet
Sweetest boy that I ever did meet

Trey Harris, Trey Harris
Sweetest boy in the whole wide world
Trey Harris, Trey Harris
Makes his mama such a happy girl

Indeed, Trey is a sweet boy. But his sweetness has been in short supply of late.

We expected him to have trouble adjusting to life where he is not the king. I'm not sure exactly how we expected this to manifest itself, but it is far worse than I ever would have thought.

I love my boy so much. I know my sweet boy is still in there somewhere, and on rare occasion I see him.

But at this point Trey is spending the majority of his time in blatant disobedience. And as much as I want to love on my boy and enjoy our time together, the vast majority of our interactions consist of me correcting him, and him continuing to disobey despite punishment.

I try to look at it from his point of view. I know that part of this is the whole negative attention better than no attention thing. Just because he is no longer two doesn't mean the terrible twos will immediately end. He is asserting his independence, testing the boundaries, becoming...grown up, I guess.

But it is exhausting to spend so much time doling out discipline. Pretty depressing too. And how guilty I feel, after speaking firmly to Trey, turning right around and speaking words of love and smiling at Aden.

Phase, phase, it's just a phase. Let's just keep saying that. And praying. Hard. This too shall pass. The sooner the better.