Before I became a mother, I had a pretty clear picture of the kind of mom I wanted to be. Calm. Understanding. Fun. Exciting. Not frazzled. Not hung up over cleaning up or eating their peas. Most of all, not naggy. I hated naggy. Every mother I know has a superpower, which is the ability to go on and on incessantly until their opponent is thoroughly worn out.

I didn’t want that power at all.

Then one by one, my ideals got shredded to bits but still, I was cool about turning out to be the exact opposite of THE AWESOME MOTHER I was going to be. I was driven batshit crazy. I started freaking out after Tru spat out every vegetable for 2 weeks straight. All he wanted to eat was rice with egg. Sometimes, just eggs without the rice. I’m pretty relaxed about food but even I know that’s not good. It’s all about expectation management, I told myself. No big deal, just roll with it. I had long given up on being a perfect mom, but my consolation was that at least I wasn’t naggy… yet.

Lately, it’s getting impossible to not nag at the kids. When they’re babies, there’s really no need to nag because they’re not able to follow instructions so you cut them some slack. The real test is when they start intentionally ignoring everything you ask them to do.

At first, Tru had this wonderful phase I like to call the super-duper-helper phase. He actually wanted to do everything I requested because apparently, it was so *fun* to be helpful. It was like having a voice-activated remote control robot. “Tru, help mommy to throw the tissue.” “Tru, turn on the fan.” “Tru, pick up the toys.” The cleanup song worked like a charm and he would round up all the toys neatly into a pile. On retrospect, I should have milked it a lot more.

Now, he’s in the don’t-try-to-con-me-into-helping-because-I’m-not-that-naive phase. I much prefer the previous one. Instead of obliging enthusiasm, I get a flicker of acknowledgement followed by determined nonchalance.

First he pretends he doesn’t hear me and of course I fall for it and repeat myself, this time a little louder. “Tru, can you take off your shoes?” *No response* After 5,000 repetitions, it becomes “Tru, if I have to come over and take off your shoes for you, it’s not going to be pretty for either of us.” That usually works, but it doesn’t help me in the no-nagging department.

Other times, he pretends to act dumb and flashes me the puzzled look, like “I really *want* to help you, mommy, but I just don’t understand what it means to pick up my toys.” Nice try, young man. Unfortunately for him, I am in fact the master of that particular move. A slight tilt of the head coupled with a raised eyebrow.

I’m trying to make myself feel better with the idea that nagging is part of the job, like how surgeons have to cut and lawyers have to weasel. Mothers, we’re relentless like that.

Unless you’ve got an idea on how not to nag. Although I’m pretty sure that’s impossible.