You guys, it was JUST MONDAY. How did this happen? Cliche, yes, I know. But still. It’s nuts.
This weekend was so much better than last. OMG. Ha ha. We still did plenty and had fun and went outside and all that good, summer stuff. But we did a little less of it and made sure Xander got his regular naps (or, at the very least, an hour to hang out in his room and coo to his stuffed animals). We were all much happier for it.
This will suprise no parent, especially (maybe) no parent of a male-variety child, but y’all: this kid has ENDLESS ENERGY. He’s up with the sun, and before I can crack my second eye open I hear “ow-site? pay? pay ow-site? tattoo?” Tattoo is, for no known reason, drawing with chalk on the driveway. And then Big Fat Tears Of Toddler Angst because, lo, before we can tattoo, we must get dressed. Also? Mama must have at least a quart of coffee. Today, we went to the store, stopped at the park, tattooed and played with trucks in the driveway, had lunch, all by 11:30. IN THE MORNING. I was about ready to keel over while His Royal Toddlerness flat out refused to sleep. He did have some “quiet (ha ha ha ha, as if ) time” in the afternoon, though, so I could actually get
shit stuff done.
It’s fun, though, I must admit. It’s insanely exhausting, and I have so much more sympathy for my mother who did this with THREE of us, than I ever have, but I love it. Last year he didn’t really play. And it’s not that I didn’t enjoy hanging with him, but it was a lot more of just….hanging around and staring at his vaguely mobile body while wondering how guilty I’d feel if I read my Kindle instead of savoring this preshush baby moment. Now he runs and laughs and points and tries to talk (the talking! I love toddler talking! They sound like very nice, non-weepy drunk people!) and occasionally stops what he’s doing to throw his grubby arms around my neck and give me a very wet “mah!” before he’s off again. I still can’t, you know, DO anything while he’s playing, he demands my full attention, but it’s more engaging and interactive than it’s been.
Don’t get me wrong, the drama and tantrums still suck. A lot. And just the thought of not getting his way sets him off into ear-bleeidng wails. I’ve more than once just picked him up, football style, and strong-armed him up the stairs to the house because SERIOUSLY, if you want to eat dinner I cannot possibly watch you draw another squiggly line on the asphalt. (Spoiler alert: he doesn’t want to eat dinner.) And I do use the iPad to lure him into a few minutes of quiet self-entertainment while I wash dishes or prep dinner or, you know, check Facebook on my phone.
But he’s becoming a little person and it’s so fun because I LIKE him. I mean, yes, I love him, of course. But I like him. He’s funny! He does these goofy little dances to make JS and I laugh. He pretends to fall asleep then spies to see what we’re doing. He reads us his stories, and rubs our arms saying “niiiiiiiiice” when we get out of sorts. He freaks out when he sees a bird out the The Wild (our deck), because he knows them from his books. He thinks grapes and berries are the best thing ever, but if you try to give him mango, he will hurl it so far across the room you may not find it for months.
At the end of the day I’m so ready for him to go to bed, so I can have a few moments of quiet. A half an hour to read without interruption. A conversation with JS that’s not drawn out because of requests for snacks or cups or “up! up!”. But after the stories are read and the songs are sung and the last kisses have been given….I miss him. I peek at his little sleeping body, butt up in the air stink-bug style, half a dozen times a night. I have to stop myself from going in his room and smoothing his hair, or running my finger down his still snub-nose, because I just ache to touch him again.
Of course, then he has to go and ruin that by waking up before God.
So, you know. Grain of salt and all that.