A Tale of Two Mommies

…because more seems excessive…

Tag Archives: sweet child behavior

Feelin’ the Love

There are truly delightful moments with my children, especially my soon to be threenager. Warrior Queen is ten-months and not really mobile, so most of her life’s navigation is exceptionally cute. Right now I relish the floodingly moist baby kisses and the way she will rest her head on my chest at times when I hold her. It is a sign of affection I will miss once it vanishes. It’s usually prompted when I provide smooches to her cheek. Once she’s sufficiently speckled, often she rewards me with multiple cheek sucklings in return or a resting hug. My daughter is much freer with her affectionate efforts, and I’ve found it my mission to preserve that in her…as well as her determination to assert her needs with the force meriting a, suffragist lady. And, if I’m honest, I’d prefer her to be a bad ass Black/African American suffragist lady, because they were the strongest among the group. With my fierce girl, it’s all pretty much swoon worthy. Little Man within the context of his independence and control assertions, swings his disposition pendulum to the extreme sides of the arc.

The other day he was so terribly sweet to his baby sister. He often is, but it is usually misguided with all of his attempts to be kind or helpful. He tries to cuddle Warrior Queen…by sitting or laying on her for a hug. He shares toys, but ripping from her hands the one she is in the process of enjoying, replacing it with a different toy she has no desire for. He will often help me clean…after making his various puzzle pieces rain confetti all over the sitting room area. Mr. Man will retrieve his own food…by climbing up the ladder that is our refrigerator shelving. His drinks are within easy access. But, this particular day he asked me to hug and snuggle his baby sister, telling me that he has to be gentle. True to his word he nuzzled and wrapped his arms around her so delicately, and my heart swelled. We read many books to prepare Little Man to be a big brother…he still enjoys them, attempting to enact every strategy listed. Sometimes he will become particularly frustrated when denied something he sees as his obligation. Following his lovely hug, my sweet boy asked me to feed his fierce sister. He tore a piece of his toast, showing me before lightly placing it in her eager mouth.

Several instances throughout that same day, and with increasing frequency in general, my son selected a favorite book of his he memorized, and sat next to Warrior Queen, reading each page with the same inflection in which I read each tale. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was an almost three-year-old reading prodigy. My daughter always seems to prefer my son’s literary touch to mine; she’ll gaze at him enamored while he concentrates on each page. The only time I have her undivided attention with a story is while she is eating.

But, of all of his growing and independence pursuits I’ve been expecting him to turn away from me…seeking to understand his world. Elements of that exist, certainly, but I’m surprised to find that my son turns to me more than he did when he was his sister’s age. Last night for example, Little Man’s latest pursuit to delay his bedtime is “two minutes” to lay in our bed. He doesn’t ask his father. This is a delay tactic reserved entirely for me…because he knows I’m a sucker for a snugglefest, and last night did not disappoint. My sweet boy cuddled into me as we shared my pillow, under three blankets. Upon his initiation we had multiple rendition exchanges of stating how much we love each other, “Love you too,” “Love you,” “I love you so much.” The final version particularly impressive, as Little man confuses I and you within his increasingly sophisticated sentences and requests. Furthermore, this was the first time he really told me he loves me. Prior he would say, “Love you too,” but that is something he’s repeated from my utterances…probably directed toward his daddy. I suppose he’s heard the other versions as well, but it’s never been like this. I suppose a piece of this was to delay sleep, but some day…probably soon…these efforts will stop. He will turn away from me as he grows into a man. But, these moments are mine for as long as I have them, and hopefully they will sustain me for the drought that is to come.

Out of the Closet…and Into a Tent

It was a cute evening. I go upstairs to check on my toddler who likely terrorized his bedroom with every article he possesses strewn all over the floor. Surprisingly, it wasn’t all that bad. He looks up from his book, and requests me to follow him and enter his spacious closet. He directs me to sit, and hands me a book to read.

After a few pages, he stands up, once again insisting I follow. He dives into the hand-me-down tent his cousins used over a decade ago. Little Man begs that I enter with him and continue reading. I’m small, but not so small that I can sit upright. I stretch on my side. My sweet little boy curls up along my length, looks up at me with smiling eyes and beaming mouth. Then he gazes on the page of my utterings.

We remained that way until my husband entered the room with our daughter. The spell was broken. Little Man falls over me giggling on his way out. I clumsily exit, taking some of the tent with me. By that time no one was in the room to hear the profane fragment escape my lips, as the tent opening clutched my ankle. I could hear the ruckus downstairs, and it pulled me like a string around my abdomen.

Worth 1,000 Words

I’m all about the reading. Reading aloud to my children is one of my most favorite activities, even when the story selection passed its threshold of tedium in the rear view mirror. Beyond the general short and long term benefits of reading to the young’uns, I have ulterior motives. I was illiterate through the fourth grade, and a fairly lousy reader through college. I’m ignorant of the scientific explanation for my troubles, but it impacted everything from my egregious writing to my pathetic understanding of social cues. It’s all part of my path, and I’m proud of who I am. That said, it wasn’t an easy path, and some of my struggles endure. Aware that my genetic composition is the cause of some of the more harsh parts of my reality, I try the best I can to offset their effects should my children inherit some of my dysfunction. Reading is one of those interventions. If my children can’t read as most, I want them to love a story. With any luck it will be a beacon if the literary world presses down its fog.

With this theme ever present in my mind, I’m heartened on days such as today. Certainly there are copious of other events to warm my very core in this arena. Little Man loves tales above all else, and the Warrior Queen at a ripe old age of six-months shows every inclination of possessing the same passion. She has since she was brewing in my belly; developed enough to hear and appreciate my vocal cadence, yet small enough to have room for her interpretive dancing in response to my rhythm.

Warrior Queen is on the cusp of reciprocating as her big brother’s playmate. Little Man itches for these interactions. Today is a new one. When my son was an itty bitty exterior soul, I purchased these Black on White/White on Black books…if you can call them that.

Image result for white on black infant book

 (This is an example of a couple of the book images.)

I couldn’t tell you if these books are actually helpful for babies or just in name, but such a thing doesn’t hurt. Why not invest in a couple? Mr. Man was indifferent as a baby, but my fierce girl is much more delighted by objects in general than he ever was. I gave this accordion cardboard collection another whirl. My son was thrilled by the suggestion before I had the chance to formally present the book to either child. He ecstatically shrieked his request to show the Warrior Queen, and I may have lost a frequency or two in my hearing capability.

I sat on a chair at my desk. My daughter on her belly facing away from me, the book standing on its edges, fanned before her. Her doting big brother sharing in tummy time immediately next to her, reading the images. He was engrossed in the task, oblivious to her vacillated gaze between the pictures like the ones above, and awe of the sweet boy she resembles so closely. And, I melted.

 

Smiles

Warrior Queen is particular with her smiles.  I am the recipient of loads, but second to the ones bestowed on her brother.  She absolutely adores him, and he her…when he isn’t casting a greenish hue.  Little Man tends to his baby sister; the first at her feet when any unhappy squeal is uttered.  Sometimes he stands before her and stares.  Other times he not so gracefully attempts to return the pacifier to her sleeping mouth, or almost falls on top of her attempting to restart the swing or mobile.  Each event almost stops my heart thinking of the harm his loving deeds almost caused, but I try to commend him for the effort.  Often my intervention is showing him the appropriate gentle gesture required or assisting him with his caregiving task.

I’m not sure my son appreciates or even notices the fierce girl’s smiles, even when he is more accepting of her existence.  But, there are those times when my son will lie on the floor next to my daughter.  They will look at each other and smile.  Little Man will laugh and look at me before patting his sister’s belly.  The moment is never long enough; in a toddler blur he stands up, trotting off to his next diversion.

Travel Log

There is one significant distinction between schlepping one kid around and the addition of another.  With one child any daily traveling was mostly uneventful.  I could go an entire outing not having to change a diaper or even stop to eat…But, I love to eat, especially out, so Mr. Man luncheons were often superfluous additions to our schedule…  Sure, there was the occasional public tantrum that amounts to a belly flop dive in the middle of a main walkway, or my son jamming something horrible in his mouth as I do a Matrix style freeze frame deciding on what level my freak-out should be.

With two, however, dumb shit happens just about every schlep; It’s pretty remarkable, actually.  It isn’t so much that things become heinous or terrible to endure, but as events unfold I’m acutely aware of how stupid and unnecessary the situation is, yet completely unavoidable.

The toy-play bonanza historically was my go-to, especially during pregnancy.  Reliably uneventful, mostly free from stupid stuff occurring.  Now, however, I carry two.  I took my little ones to a different one to vary things.  I’m still adjusting and stick to the reliable and pleasant…for me…  Things were going well.  I’m dancing around to the surprisingly good and kid friendly music with the almost six-week-old Warrior Queen snoozing away in my carrier.  I feed her without incident.  My daughter is pro spit-up, so lasting through an entire feeding without such an event occurring is remarkable in and of itself.  It was time to go, so I didn’t bother to tuck her back into the wrap.  I carried her and began my trips to and from the car that I parked just outside the door.  Little Man was last, and so far mostly oblivious to my actions; his girlfriend was working.  Warrior Queen was buckled in, and I hustle to get Mr. Man who tantrumed for a brief moment for show…all moving according to plan…until I smelled it.  No way I’m leaving my girl in the car while I take my two-year-old to the bathroom to change the noxious lump he was harboring in his diaper…car trunk it is…  The change was awkward, but easier than usual…I didn’t get kicked in the face and Little Man giggled as the wind danced across his bare bottom.  The situation wasn’t catastrophic or all that unmanageable, but stupid nonetheless.

Park and playground outings are becoming more reliable sources of entertainment as my son has started liking the outdoors.  I’m still hesitant to go to them as a mainstay occupation, as he doesn’t endure all that long and I don’t like bugs.  I will, however, take him as an auxiliary activity, especially if I can rope in a friend or two to join us.  One particular playground outing occurred in our town.  The structures are new and the area expansive, as the playground is part of a larger recreational area.  My son was running along the field and the perimeter of the woods selecting and handing me random rocks, acorns, and pine cones.  I’m not sure why; he started acknowledging that I toss them almost as soon as he hands them to me.  He doesn’t seem to care even when I’m not all that covert about the sudden nature expulsion.  I don’t know what dead animal my son eagerly grabbed, but he managed it full fisted…I calmly asked him to release the decayed bit of fur or feathers while internally running though the possible diseases leading to death my son exposed himself to…and that’s why parents carry hand sanitizer…except this parent.  I clearly need to get on the bandwagon…

I really haven’t been carting two children for more than a few weeks, this week was the first time it was my show for the duration.  How can such a short time span yield so many stories because I’m not all that interesting of a person?  Mondays we tend to go to a free library program that is pretty good and short.  This particular Monday I’m describing, though, had us leaving the house late, but I couldn’t say why this day was such a problem.  I’m pretty good about getting out of the house.  I guess it was just a lot of dumb little things like a bag of crayons getting tangled on my purse strap (They are both inanimate objects.  How did that even happen?), and the same purse getting caught on the garage door knob as I was exiting carrying the bucket car seat…I need to get a different purse.  We arrived at the library just as the program started, but it was at capacity.  I take the kids to the walled in patio because it would be safe from anything eventful, right?  Wrong.  My torrid tangle of toddler managed to dump over three pots of dirt that looked to be a children’s group planting project before I even had a moment to register the destruction before me.  I wonder if they have “Wanted” signs at libraries.

Another day later during the week, we were on the way to the bonanza.  I missed the drive thru turn, so decided it would not be a day for an iced tea…totally changed my mind after the following disaster.  Then, I was on a mission.  But, the initial pursuit was not meant to be.  The later attempt not much better, sadly yielding empty hands.  No lemon, fine, but then they tried to hand me an iced green tea.  I have a newborn.  What’s the point of that?  The cashier tells me that they were out of the regular.  I think they just messed up my order.

In between the depressing iced tea fiasco, I took my children to our less frequented indoor play spot; it was Little Man’s girlfriend’s one day off…bad sign.  Usually my son handles disappointment pretty well…for a toddler, which translates to him refraining from burning down the establishment.  But, this day it was bad enough his squeeze was absent, but he REALLY was unhappy we could not join the music class in the back room.  I get it.  The guy had a guitar, and Mr. Man will be the next frustrated musician complaining about the industry and poo-pooing the latest talentless rage while he continues to live in our basement.  For the first time ever he wanted to leave after only an hour, but it was time for my fierce girl to eat, so my son would need to wait.  Not usually a problem, c’mon, this place has toys, slides, and a bouncy castle…  But, alas, he started launching a wooden toy that might be a Jetsonesque lamp for the full size doll house.  I had to stop feeding the Warrior Queen so I could snatch my son for a time-out.  As I tended to him, my girl started exerting her hunger battle cry, which oddly is less dramatic than the poop one.  Holding my son’s leg with one hand, I plunked the bottle back in my daughter’s mouth with my other hand.  I did that twice before my son gave in and demonstrated dramatic “gentle hands” with every object he selected from the floor.  Not soon enough we are able to leave.  I tried to be quick, but my Mr. Man completely lost whatever miniscule cool he had.

Ten or so minutes from home we drive past a pretty good playground.  I had been feeling bad that on such a beautiful day I chose to take the cherubs somewhere inside.  It was still early, so we stopped.  My son doesn’t last all that long on playgrounds, but it’s always more than ten minutes.  Little Man enjoyed the swings and wanted to leave much sooner than the typical thirty minutes he usually indulges before running cattywampus on every structure he can manage.  Sounded good to me though.  I was schvitzing up a storm.  But, on my son’s lead, we enter a grocery store and proceeded to roam aimlessly like crazy people before he fell and slammed his face on some part of the cart with a car front stores started getting in solidarity with parents…kind of, have you tried maneuvering these things?  Maybe the real reason for fleets of them is so at the end of a long shift employees can watch and amuse themselves even if they have to perpetually fix displays.  Regardless, my son could sport a shiner badge of honor for his clumsiness…

Everyone buckled in the car for our journey home, the drive surprisingly quiet.  Both kids wanted to be fed almost immediately upon entering our homestead…because they always want to eat at the same time.  Some day that will be sweet, but not this day.  Little Man finishes his meal, my daughter lagging.  My son was tired exhibiting his telltale impulsiveness.  He climbed on the table winging his unfinished and half chewed food everywhere.  I ignore him and continued to feed his sister.  The only indication of my annoyance was the vein about to rupture in my forehead.  Mr. Man either realized his commotion wasn’t working or he developed a last ditch appreciation for my mental state, climbed down from the table and in a sleepy daze snuggled into me while I sat uncomfortably in a mild contortionist pose at the kitchen table.  I couldn’t resist giving him smooches.  After all, everyone is a douche when cranky…pretty sure I’m not an exception, but I’m hesitant to ask my husband.  Maybe I can’t avoid dumb shit from happening now that we are a troop of three, but at least I earn my sofa time.

That Girl I Know…

My fierce girl even at a month old has defined personality characteristics.  She knows what she wants, and often it is to cuddle…at three in the morning when all I can think about is succumbing to my unconscious…  But, alas, how can I possibly deny a nine pound being with an expression resembling the finest among the Lollipop Guild fervently and unsuccessfully trying to shove both hands in her mouth simultaneously?

(She has the same hairline too…)

Everything about her has passion and determination; I hope this impulse always stays as the world revolves around her.

Babies her age don’t do much except make the most fantastic facial expressions.  The Guild face is a favorite of mine, but I also love her scrunched, puckered mouth with tiny tough darting through; I hope I remember it always.

Even so new, my girl knows when her mommy is not around, and insists I pay the piper whenever I take a few hours to myself, leaving her in capable, yet unsatisfactory hands.  She bides her time with the cuddles of others, and insists I not release her from my grasp for the remainder of the day after I return.  It never matters that I’ve held her hours preceding my outing; a debt is a debt…  If my back wasn’t so sore these days and the cuddling didn’t amount to me missing meals, I’d have no objection.  So funny for her to be this attached because she spent months attempting to push her way out my belly, particularly at the very end of my pregnancy.

It isn’t social yet, but the Warrior Queen smiles all the time; sometimes a slight smirk, but sometimes it fills her entire face.  She smiles in her sleep, looking at me with wide blue eyes, and especially when I softly stroke her cheek and hair.  She also is partial to back or tushie rubs and pats as she drifts off to sleep in my crooks.  It makes me especially tickled she experiences joy so easily when so often she has to wait in fits of tears for me to meet her needs…Mr. Man requires attention too, and sometimes his needs are more immediate for everyone’s safety… and sanity…

But, what I love most about my intimate acquaintance is that she is here and part of our days and lives.  I’d love a good night’s sleep and it feels like I’m perpetually thinking of little else, but she won’t cuddle and smile like this forever, so what’s a few dark circles and incoherent conversations?

Close from the Start…Rollin’ Along…

I took both kids to my favorite bit of bonanza yesterday.  My son attends a class that ended up cancelled without me receiving notification, but it ended up as an unplanned opportunity to bring both offspring to an activity because my mother has a cold.

My son continues to melt me with his gestures toward his sister.  He views his child care responsibilities seriously; a pox on the parent who deprives him of his parade to our sofa or kitchen table carrying his sister’s bottle.  I think one of his favorite duties, however, is the shared one of helping feed her.  Now he’s starting to dab her mouth of milky drool when she is chillaxin’ in her swing.  It’s all so sweet that I can barely stand it…but maybe it’s still the hormones…

My little man seems to know his sister’s hunger cues better than I do.  On two occasions he’s heard her fussing and walked to the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle.  As the Warrior Queen’s mother, I assumed it was too early for her to experience hunger pangs, but my son was correct on both occasions.  She downed at least a couple of ounces.

The other day was another occurrence in less than two weeks of Mr. Man foreseeing his sister’s needs, which brings me back to the slice of heaven play spot.  My son was enjoying himself among the other children.  A beautiful day and the end of the latest class cycle prompted very few kids in attendance, but the quality enabled my son to find consistent playmates throughout the morning and early afternoon, so he was larking it up.  I’m wearing his sister in the blessed carrier my sister-in-law gifted to us, chatting with a friend who met us with two of her cherubs.  It was approaching the Warrior Queen’s next feeding, but usually when I wear her the meal delays.  At that specific time she communicated no indication she was hungry, just continued to snooze peacefully cuddled against my chest.  Suddenly, my son escapes the children’s play area (because he can work the child gate barricade).  I assumed he wanted another snack, as is his usual protocol.  But, this time he began fishing out all of his sister’s formula from my bag.  Within a minute at most the Warrior Queen awakens and wants her meal…three for three, Little Man, well done.

Twenty/Twenty Vision

I’ve been confidently predicting for months, possibly longer, that my daughter will arrive early.  This final trimester has been grandly terrible on many levels, diabetes aside, so maybe my proclamations are more wishful thinking.

My son was about a week-and-a-half early, and the Warrior Queen’s belly benchmarks have been about three to four weeks ahead of his, particularly her movements.  This began my ponderings of her arrival as early as fourteen weeks.

I’m thirty-seven weeks in a day, and I’ve been increasingly confident that this will end very soon, but, again, wishful thinking perhaps turning more urgent?  The last two days, however, give me pause to think about her near future; I’d been telling myself her likely arrival would be in the thirty-eight week realm.  Now I wonder if it’s sooner.  The interesting thing about labor is that it is really something only confirmed once it occurs.  That said, with my son I had suspicions when I experienced a day of odd movements that he would be arriving soon…My water broke at three in the morning, less than twenty-four hours later.  What is happening right now is not so distinct, but maybe it is.  We’ll see.

The Warrior Queen has been in position for a long time now, and been attempting with great fervency to push through my belly.  Two days ago the same pushing was occurring at the very floor of my pelvis…quite comfortable naturally…  That first day of oddity was the longest and most consistent duration of this intense heavy pushing downward; it continues to occur, but yesterday wasn’t as persistent or enduring throughout the day.  Then there is the cramping.  A good amount of it two days ago and yesterday morning.  The rest of the day it was absent.  Cramping for the second day colors the picture of the sensation as a three in the morning experience, how lovely…I didn’t need sleep anyway…

Most interestingly has been the change in Little Man’s behavior the last two days.  He’s always been impressively perceptive even at two-years-old, so I wonder if he senses something.  My son is a toddler, so tantrums are par for the course, but his morning meltdowns before we leave the house have had a different feel.  The rest of the day tantrums are odd as well.  Historically they predictably occur when he is tired; silly, impulsive behavior that prompts me to sigh with annoyance, especially when all I can think about is a snack or lunch.  There are others when he is frustrated, but there isn’t anything that befuddles me.  My bewilderment with his tantrums are more due to the intense nature of his abhorrence for small, random things that pass as suddenly as their onset.  The last two days my son has been destructive whenever we are alone, and he is angry unlike anything I’ve seen from him.  He’s started hitting and even scratching me at times when I lift him during a moment of stubborn refusal.  Even when upset he has never been aggressive out of anger; it’s always been an overkill of silliness.  From anger my son will suddenly move to random acts of cuddling and sweetness that surpass his typical gestures.  While consistently loving, the last two days carry with it an increase of spontaneous hugs and snuggling on the sofa that previously only occurred when he was becoming sleepy in the evenings, but even then the behavior was fairly rare.

The moments of sweetness have a certain desperation to them that I have trouble describing.  I retrieved him from a nap, as a sweet example I want to remember; he was inconsolably upset, but adorable in his mismatched jammies and affray hair that is starting to curl because it is getting too long.  We sit on my desk chair and watch recordings of his life’s moments; a favorite of his when he was six-months-old, gregarious laughter because of wind in the autumn trees.  Little Man sat on my lap, laying his head on a bare section of my chest, limbs burrowed in, hands clutching my shirt collar, watching himself on repeated cycles; periodically looking up at me with a wide smile before resuming his position.  He remained in that state for ten minutes, but as uncomfortable as my back felt, I wanted to remain that way forever holding him into me.

My odd, off feeling a couple of days ago transformed into feeling pretty great yesterday, and seems to be continuing today…struggling to breathe aside.  Even with now two days of little sleep, I feel surprisingly energized and awake.

From my appointment yesterday I learned that I am dilated two centimeters, but my walls are still thick; fairly meaningless data.  Labor could come at any time.  My insulin was increased the other day, but my fasting level remained almost too high.  Yesterday I saw the Atlantis of a mid seventies level.  I was told that might be an indication of approaching labor…or a problem with my placenta requiring eventual induction.  Yesterday’s fasting level, however, seems to be a fluke.  This morning the level was in the mid eighties, which is still a good amount lower, but nothing impressive or interesting.

In the end all of these things are the tea leaves I’ve been drinking.  The beautiful thing about it is I’ll know the outcome soon enough…well, maybe not soon enough, but soon.

 

 

Gifts in Small Packages

The other day Mr. Man was basking in the glow of a new and good sized sticker on his chest when I approached.  He wanted another sticker, which he promptly pasted to his little sister, repeatedly patting the spot on my belly with gentle, loving strokes.  Then he stepped away as if to ponder the situation.  He looked at the sticker affixed to his chest, removed it, and reattached it to his belly pressing it with pride.  With his job complete, my little man walked off to play, and I dissolved into a puddle.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Man

My son vacillates between two extremes in his disposition; he is both a totally mischievous jerk as well as sweeter than any toddler anyone could possibly conceive.

On the precipice of my third trimester, finding a comfortable sitting position on the sofa is becoming increasingly difficult. It had been a long day of child care with a two week relentlessly annoying cold, but I managed to find my reclined sweet spot, as well as sufficiently cover most of my body with a blanket.  My dear little boy stops his content playing on the floor, looks to me, and runs behind the sofa.  My immediate thought was this can’t be good, but I was waiting for the distinct smell of smoke or some other indication of catastrophe to motivate me to awkwardly lever myself off the sofa.  Within seconds my hero returns with a cardigan I left on the kitchen island and hands it to me.  Then he points to the comforter on the floor, trying to pull it up because Mommy should be comfortable.  Those moments make my heart melt…until twenty minutes later I’m talking on the phone for five minutes and he is practicing his version of the Rockettes’ Christmas special on our kitchen table.  When I try to retrieve him, he is giggling uncontrollably and artfully maneuvering out of my grasp.

My love will want me to hold him and dance to terrible music from his toy piano/automated music apparatus…apparently small children don’t need quality sounds in their toys.  All of these happy little noise makers make me want to gouge out my eyes to make the pain this music induces stop.  I think this thing was calling the dogs in the neighborhood in the process, but maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about because he rests his head on my shoulder as I awkwardly move to strange and brief tempos of popular children’s tunes I only vaguely recognize.  Then he looks up at me and gives me smooches, stroking my hair…then smacks me in the face…really hard, actually, before jamming his finger in my ear (His daddy taught him that gem.).  I was especially appreciative that his nails required clipping; I still have the battle scar…  Even as I’m yelping from pain and surprise, he is laughing maniacally.  I practically drop him to the ground, which prompted a devastated howl and desperate upstretched arms.  Maybe he learned his lesson?  I pick him up; immediately he resumes his creepy laugh as he jams that same very jagged-nailed finger back in my ear.

I managed to cut my finger this afternoon.  It was minor, but bled enough to require a bandage.  Little Man was very sweet with his concern, pointing repeatedly at the covered wound with a troubled look on his face as he patted my thigh and hugged my legs.  Less than an hour later I’m starting to prepare dinner.  My husband’s child asks for his milk and starts furiously banging his cup on our cabinets.  In an effort to take it away, I’m chasing him, which he always enjoys.  I’m not too proud to say that he can outrun me; I blame the pregnancy.  Something new, he runs to the gate blocking him from our dining room, and launches his milk cup as far as he can.  Milk splatters all over the floor.  Laughing, he stands in the doorway pointing to the mess he created like it’s a quality Basquiat reproduction.

I don’t have a lot familiarity with this age to know if I’m successfully raising a sociopath or if this is nature’s way of preparing me for his teenage years.  My one hope is that “jerk” is a phase…

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