Mommyhood gone sour

This is one of those times on the motherhood journey that I hold my head in my hands, cry, and wonder where I went wrong. Between the unsuccessful potty training (no, he still does not poop in the toilet) and now extreme defiance, I am going to lose my mind. I just heard him come out of his room for the SEVENTH time tonight. NOTHING works. Not being nice, being mean, time out, spanking, yelling, no books, NOTHING.

I have run out of ways to coerce, cajole, encourage AND punish. I am at my wits end. I don't want to try new things (and I realize that this is my stubborn side). I am just tired, I have a headache.

Just today we had two knock down drag out show downs. The first was this afternoon. I picked him up from the neighbor's house after attending another neighbor's baby shower, and instead of being cooperative about putting his shoes on to go to the car, he was difficult, so I gave up. Then he says he wants his shoes on, but I say too late, and he immediately starts screaming bloody murder. And when I say screaming, I mean, so blood curdling that I wonder if the whole neighborhood thinks I'm beating him.

We go out to the car, and at this point I have not strapped him into his seat because we are going one street over to our house. However, I end up having to shove him into his seat and buckle only the bottom part of the car seat straps because I am only strong enough to get that part with his screaming, hitting and arching his back. Only when he's strapped in is it safe for me to drive. That way he can't hit at me and grab at the steering wheel.

One minute later as we pull into our garage, he is still screaming at the top of his lungs (still telling me he's stopped crying and to put his shoes on him - HA). I go in to chill out (leaving the car/AC on because it is South TX and at least 90 degrees). When I come back out about one minute later, he is still screaming, but I need to turn off the car and bring him in. So, I proceed, but now he screams that he doesn't want to get out of the car. Seriously. So we get in the house by my carrying him and he attempts to get out the garage door. So I have to hold it closed - he can work the locks. All the while he is hitting at me and now kicking me. PLEASANT.

So, I tell him we are going up to the playroom to chill out. We go upstairs (me still transporting him by carrying him under my right arm so as not to be mauled on the way). I finally have to sit on him and hold down his arms until he finally stops screaming and crying. He won't stay in any one place otherwise, and if I let him go he throws things at me and the walls. And I have read that it is not a good idea to make the bedroom a place of punishment.

I have a bad temper, but I can't say I've ever done anything like this. I just slam doors. And of course he's already picked up that habit too. GREAT.

I am definitely not the best example of keeping cool when things aren't going the way I'd hoped, but I'm guessing that David has caught on and taken that to an extreme (clearly that's what happens with two-year-olds).

The second show down is still in progress and I'm definitely losing.

Oh my heavens. He's in my room again, and now he's NAKED. Really. Why? Why me?

And for those keeping score, this is actually the third time he's been in my room since I wrote that it was the seventh. Man, life is unfair. I need SuperNanny. BADLY. WILL GO AND GET BOOK TOMORROW.