"Mummy Daddy Tucket"

A little over a month ago, the husband and I took a four-night trip to Nantucket for a wedding that I was standing up in (see older post about bridesmaid dress shopping). We were a little concerned before the trip about what we were going to do with the little guy during the wedding festivities. We thought we would have to suck it up and pay for a local baby sitter recommended by the hotel. The idea of lugging all the toddler gear and car seat and having to change planes with our almost two year old made me shudder, but we would have to make it work.

Then a few weeks before the trip, I was joking with my mother in law that she should fly in and take care of her grandson. Much to my surprise, she seemed to think this was a good idea! I was thrilled and maybe a little nervous, knowing that my toddler was still wanting to nurse at night and still not sleeping very well at all (see previous post about never sleeping!).

My mother in law was ever optimistic. “He’ll be fine,” she kept reassuring me. “You two should go and enjoy yourselves and have some alone time.” I’m not sure she realized that it wasn’t the child I was worried about. I knew he would be fine. I was more concerned about how she would survive four nights of no sleep. But once the plan was made, I surprised myself by being very at ease with it all and not worrying about how Grandma and the boy would manage. They would tough it out and everyone would be fine. Oddly enough, my husband, who is usually so calm, did all of the stressing for me. He wrote his mom emails with many instructions. He included directions to the hospital and numbers of neighbors and friends and pediatricians and vets (for the dog and cat, not the child). In the days leading up to the trip, I joked with my mother in law about how she would surely have my toddler weaned and sleep trained before we returned. She laughed nervously. I'm not sure she knew I was kidding.

The night before the trip came and I settled down to read a story to the little one. I felt a little emotional knowing that I would be leaving him at 4:30 the next morning. I lay with him in his big boy bed and cuddled him to sleep as usual. I sniffed the top of his head, my nose touching his fluffy hair, which smelled of Burt’s Bees Baby Shampoo. He was so snuggly and soft.

We had been explaining to him for the previous few days that mummy and daddy were going on a trip and that Granny would be looking after him. I’m not sure how much he understood. So with a tear in my eye, I lay listening to his breathing until he fell asleep.

The next morning, as the cab waited to take us to the airport, I crept in to kiss my boy goodbye. He stirred and croaked, “Mama yay down.” I lay down next to him for a few minutes and rubbed his back as he fell back to sleep. “Mummy loves you,” I whispered kissing his forehead as I crept out the door.

Many thoughts went through my head in the cab. I worried that he would wake up without me there and be sad. I worried that he might have already woken up for the day and was begging his grandma to go to the park at 5am. I worried that my mother in law might not understand what he was asking for when he wanted “Poncho” his stuffed dog or a “possicle” from the freezer. I worried that she might understand what he wanted and give him too many “possicles” from the freezer. I worried that she might not remember how to get ‘Caillou’ or ‘Thomas the Train’ on demand. I worried that my husband and I might go down in a plane crash and leave our son orphaned. I worried that the dog might get out and run away from home never to be found again.

But as our plane took off from Chicago O’Hare bound for Boston, the worrying dissipated. Everything was out of my control now. I was on a plane. There was nothing I could do. So I let go and I relaxed and I ordered a Bloody Mary. And I napped!!

As we took a small plane from Boston to Nantucket (after changing terminals and having to go through a long security line again at Boston airport), all I felt was relief that we didn’t have our toddler with us.

We took a cab to the adorable inn where we were staying. We unpacked and as I lay on the very comfortable bed next to my husband it hit me. I turned to my man and said, “Oh my God! We can SLEEP! We can take a nap, then go out for dinner then come back and sleep for 12 WHOLE HOURS if we want to! My fantasy has come true!” My husband nodded with an almost sympathetic smile as I continued enthusiastically, “I’m going to take a long shower and I’m going to enjoy it and no one will pull the curtain back and throw toys at me! And I can pee ALONE!!” I let out a squeal of excitement as I jumped off the bed and ran into the bathroom. My husband looked at me like I was crazy, then proceeded to start snoring before I had even closed the bathroom door behind myself.

Needless to say, the whole trip was wonderful. We took long walks around the cobbled streets and idled around the cute little shops and galleries. We enjoyed the sea breeze and smelled the salty air. We ate late breakfasts and had margaritas on patios’ at 3 in the afternoon. We attended a stunning wedding by the water, where the beautiful bride and groom glowed and we glowed along with them. We danced at the reception and laughed as we strolled shoeless on the beach that night when the party was over. We ate beautiful dinners and we took midnight walks to the late night pizza stand near our inn. We rented a jeep and drove all over the island and saw seals and had an evening picnic on the beach while watching the sunset. 

We thought about our little boy. We noticed every little kid we passed and guessed their age and compared them to our own child. We talked about him and all of his cute little sayings and habits. We checked in with Grandma often to see how they were doing. She was tired. One morning on the phone she exclaimed, “he doesn’t sleep and I can’t undo two years of bad habits in four nights!” I wasn’t offended. I knew how exhausted she was. She’d survive, she reassured me. She could sleep when she got home she said, and in the meantime some good friends of ours helped by taking our son on play dates so Granny could get a break.

But here’s the thing, one day when we ran into the bride’s mother and she asked if I was missing my son, I had to pause to think of an answer. The bride’s mom laughed and gave a little wave with her hand as if to dismiss the question. “It’s OK,” she laughed. “You don't miss him. It’s good that you’re enjoying your freedom. You need a break sometimes!” The truth is she was right. I didn’t miss my toddler. I didn’t wish he were with us. In fact, whenever we saw people struggling with toddlers in restaurants or walking around town, I didn’t envy them. I could see the stress on the faces of those parents. Because when you’re a parent of a small child or children, even on vacation, you aren’t really on vacation. You still have a schedule. You still have to eat before the kids meltdown. You have to make sure where you eat is kid friendly. And you can’t take midnight walks to pizza stands. I almost felt the dreaded mommy guilt for admitting it, but no, I didn’t miss my boy. I knew I was coming home to reality in four nights, so I decided to tell mommy guilt to go suck an egg and enjoyed every minute of my freedom.

We arrived home after flight delays at 1:30am on a Monday. Not long after we climbed into bed, I heard my boy crying. I went to get him and brought him into bed with us. He tossed and turned and after five hours of very restless sleep he was up. The grin on his face was unforgettable.  I can still picture it in my head now. He pointed at each one of us repeatedly saying, “Mama, Daddy? Mama, daddy?”

“That’s right,” my husband yawned. “We’re home!”

“Where did Mama and Daddy go?” I asked my son.

“Mama, Daddy ‘tucket!” he answered proudly.

But the joyful reunion didn’t last. Later that morning, when we were on what felt like the millionth toddler temper tantrum, I cried into my coffee at the dining room table while my husband went into the other room with the boy to try and calm him.

“He was so good while you were gone,” my mother in law said.

“I know. He’s always worse for me,” I sobbed. “I don’t want to be home. I don't want to be a mom. I didn’t even miss him!”

My mother in law looked a little helpless standing next to me, awkwardly placing her hand on my shoulder. “Oh dear,” was almost all she could manage to say. Then she added, “I thought you’d want to come home early because you couldn’t stand being away from him.”

But I could stand being away. The trip had gone by so fast and I wanted more. I wanted just one more full night of sleep. I wanted the freedom of being back in ‘tucket. Or the freedom of being anywhere but here. I felt nostalgic for the days when I lived alone in my cozy studio apartment. When I could come home from a trip and sleep off the journey. I could spend the day unpacking, doing laundry, watching an afternoon movie and ordering take out for dinner, and I could enjoy a glass of wine and soak in a long warm bubble bath. 

As it was, our suitcase sat around the house for about a week before I got around to unpacking it. Every time I tried to unpack or do laundry, my little guy appeared at my leg holding his arms up and demanding, “Mama, carry you!” 

But I'm glad to say I have since recovered from my post trip break down and fallen back into life’s routines. And I’m also completely at peace with the fact that I didn’t miss my beautiful little boy while we took a vacation away from him. I don’t think anyone can spend literally 24 hours a day with a person and not need some time away from them, even if that person is your own child.

One day, in a year or two when Grandma has recovered from watching the boy and when he’s (hopefully) sleeping through the night, maybe we’ll take another trip alone. But until then, I’m glad of the moments I can steal to myself; when it’s Daddy’s turn to do bedtime, or when my boys go to the park together. Because those times that I spend away from my boy, mean that I can be a better mother when I’m with him and I know that’s a positive thing for all of us. 

Fifty Shades of Gray Bags Under My Eyes......

Recently while at a play-date with a fellow mom, who happens to be a therapist, I mentioned my child’s sleep habits. Let me give you the rundown. We are less than two months away from my son’s second birthday and he currently sleeps in our bed. If you can name a bad sleep habit, we’re probably doing it. One of us has to stay with him until he falls asleep (whoever it is will usually pass out with him and therefore we don’t often get our evenings together). When he wakes up later in the evening, I usually just make it bed time for myself to save the hassle of coming and going. He then demands, “boob” (my toddler, not my husband!) and if I gently say no, he has a total melt down. So I spend the majority of the rest of the night nursing him; that is when he’s not flipping around the bed wrestling the blankets, resting his feet on my face or smacking his dad on the nose as he tosses and turns. When he wakes up in the morning and slides out of bed grabbing my hand yelling “Mama hand, maammaa hand,” we all get up, usually with the husband and I feeling bleary eyed and (I can’t lie) sometimes a touch resentful.

After giving this run down to my friend, she looked at me; her eyes filled with genuine sympathy and said, “So you haven’t had a full night’s sleep in almost two years. How have you not had a break down?”

Well, I’ve come close. I know our sleep situation is less than ideal, and I’ve reluctantly accepted it because quite frankly, I don’t have the energy not to. It was only hearing someone else point it out so clearly that it hit me; I really haven’t had a good full night of sleep in almost two years! (Apart from maybe a couple of times when a miracle occurred and my boy slept through, and even on those nights I would go rushing into his room to make sure he was still breathing because he couldn’t possibly have been sleeping all that time). Let me tell you, none of this was in my parenting game plan. Before I had a baby, I decided I was going to have a good sleeper. I wasn’t going to put up with any nonsense! My child would be in bed at 7pm every night and sleep like an angel.

Even after I had my baby, I was judgmental of parents who had bad sleepers. They probably indulged their children, I thought. One friend of mine has a six-year-old daughter who didn’t sleep through the night until she was three years old. I was horrified when she shared that information with me while I nursed my newborn. Even though I tried to look sympathetic and nod with understanding all I could think was, “there’s no way I’m going to allow that in my house!”

On another occasion I was taking a walk with my two month old and bumped into an acquaintance with a nine month old who told me his baby was still waking three to four times a night. Again I smiled to cover up my horror. My son would surely be sleeping through the night at nine months old!

You see, early on I was lulled into a false sense of security when my three month old would only wake maybe once or twice a night to nurse briefly and then go back to sleep for a few hours. I was smug when I talked to people about how my baby went to bed so easily and would do six or seven hour stretches of sleep. I patted myself on the back, congratulating myself on such a smooth transition into motherhood. I was doing so well. If my new mothering skills could be graded on how well my newborn slept, I would surely get an A+. Well, I learned my lesson (actually I learned many lessons) in the coming months, the first being that my child’s sleep habits were not the product of anything I was doing, the second was that smugness will return and bite you in the ass! Shortly after mentally praising myself for my wonderful little sleeper, something called the “four month sleep regression” happened (seriously, it’s real. Google it! In fact, Google any month of sleep regression and I bet you can find something from Dr. Google to back it up). To make a long story short, 18 months later we still haven’t recovered. It seemed to get really unbearable around the 10-month mark, when my child would wake up every hour throughout the night. I remember many a morning I begged my husband not to go to work and leave me with “that baby.” I would lie on my living room floor and sob. One morning I even told my husband, “I’m so tired I want to jump out of the window and die. At least if I was dead I’d be resting!” At play dates I bored even myself with my laments to fellow moms about my son’s terrible sleep. And naptime was no better. He would only nap for half an hour at a time and sometimes that was after an hour of rocking him to sleep.

I asked my pediatrician about my boy’s sleep. She told me in no uncertain terms that I had gotten him into bad habits by comforting him at night and that I should put him to bed, close the door and not go in until the next morning, even if he was screaming. I nodded enthusiastically at her suggestions, knowing I was very unlikely to follow through on them. At any following appointments, I lied and told the doctor he was sleeping pretty well.

I read Weissbluth and resolved to let my son cry it out, then I read Sears and promised myself I would never let him cry it out or in fact ever cry in general. I also read Ferber, Mindell and Pantly, all offering differing approaches to sleep. I felt so confused. Other parents seemed so sure about which approach to take. I searched through sleep posts on my birth board on babycenter.com, I listened in on sleep seminars. I even considered saving up for a sleep specialist to come and do a private consultation at our house, but I’m afraid it would have been a waste of money because I’ve never found a plan I’ve been able to consistently follow, so I’m pretty sure an expensive specialist couldn’t help us. I have nothing against sleep training of any kind if it works for you. I just can’t seem to make it work.

Now, when people ask me how my son is sleeping, I usually tell them he’s sleeping pretty well (whatever that means). Half the time, I’m so tired I barely remember if he woke up during the night. That’s one of the beauties of having him in our bed. Naps have improved, but he only takes a really good nap if I lie down with him (which most of the time I’m glad to do because I’m so flippin tired!). If babies and toddlers have trouble sleeping because their brains are so busy developing then I am mother to a pure genius.

About 7 months ago, we went through a pretty good stage for a short time. My son would let me put him in his crib wide-awake and he’d be happy about it. He’d even wave goodnight to me. The first time it happened my husband was incredulous as I walked into the living room so soon after leaving to put the boy to bed. I’m sure he thought I had knocked the child out. It continued for a week or two and our toddler was sleeping until 4 or 5 in the morning, when I would bring him into our bed and he would sleep for another couple of hours. I thought I had finally cracked the situation. Then the first ear infection came, followed by another, and another until six ear infections and one house move later, my son refused to sleep in his own bed. What could I do? I asked myself. I couldn’t put my toddler to bed and leave him to cry, knowing that he could be in pain. So he started sleeping in our bed full time. We took him to an ENT and he had tubes put in his ears. I resolved to work on the sleep situation after the tubes were in. It’s now been four weeks since the surgery and I have yet to pluck up the courage to put my boy in his own bed. Call me lazy, but I don’t have the fight in me at the end of the day to insist he sleep in his own room. There are only so many battles that I can take in one day - getting the boy dressed, changing his diapers, getting him to eat his food instead of throwing it on the floor, convincing him he needs to put shoes on to go outside, wrestling him into his stroller or car seat, suggesting he be gentle with his friends, not bite the dog , that he have a bath, or that the dark chocolate mommy is eating is really disgusting - are just a few things that spring to mind.

My husband converted the crib into a toddler bed in a bid to get the little guy to sleep there. It worked once. For one half of a night. Now, we use the toddler bed for his little friend (who spends a couple days a week at our house) to nap in. I’m glad to see it’s getting some use.

So here we are, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Sorry to use a cliché but it’s the truth. I think the plan is to get him a full size bed and gently transition him into it and hope we can get him to a place where he’s happy to sleep all night in his own bed and wean him from the ‘boob’. I’m skeptical to say the least, but I live in hope. In the meantime, I’ll just day dream about a big fluffy bed all to myself, and 8, no make that 12 hours of uninterrupted sleep. After all, if you’re gonna dream, why not dream big?!  And hopefully my darling son will be done nursing and sleeping in our bed before he goes off to college, or we’ll really have a problem on our hands!

These love handles are really starting to grow on me.

Almost a year and a half ago, I was asked to stand up in my friend's wedding. At the time, my little boy was 6 months old and I still had a little (ahem, quite a lot) of post-partum pudge around my middle.
"I'd love to be in your wedding." I smiled, then frowned, "wait, when will it be?"
"Oh, not until June next year," my friend replied. "We're waiting a while so we can enjoy being engaged and take our time with the plans and everything."
Did I mention my friend is stunning? I mean STUN-NING! She has long blonde hair, she's tall and slender. Oh and she's not just all long hair and long legs. She has a beautiful face, she's pretty, her skin is perfect, her smile is genuine and her clothes are always immaculate and matched with just the right accessories. You know what else is beautiful about my friend? She doesn't even think she's as beautiful as she is. She's able to see flaws in herself that I really don't believe exist. She's funny and self-depreciating and yet, she appreciates how good life has been to her all at the same time. OK, so I sound a little obsessed with my friend, but I just wanted to give you the full picture. The girl's got style.
"Well, I think long engagements are a good thing," I added. "There's no need to rush. This way, you have time to plan your wedding just as you always pictured it." And I have time to lose some pudge, I thought.
Well fast forward one year and three months and the pudge is most definitely not gone. In fact, I think I have more now than I did back then. Grrrr! I guess I can't complain if I'm going to insist on drinking a beer and eating some haagan daaz most nights of the week along with never working out. I wouldn't say I'm fat, but if you need a muffin top in your wedding pictures, I've got one you can borrow. I'm probably at my highest non pregnant weight, but I don't know for sure because I do not own a scale. This way I can live in my happy little world of refusing to make sacrifices and be in total denial about the fat that is ever so slowly (it's tricky that way) creeping up onto my thighs and butt, probably even as I type.
So, we recently went shopping for bridesmaid's dresses downtown. I should mention here that since having a child and moving to the north suburbs I hardly ever go downtown. I've become what I always dreaded; a suburban mom. Downtown intimidates me. People downtown usually work there and have to look good for their jobs. My saggy jeans, worn out grey mom cardigan and (way overdue for a cut and highlights) hairdo don't exactly fit in. The bride and her other bridesmaid are both 6 years younger than me and went to college together. They both still live, work and play downtown.
We got to a rather swanky store that specializes in bridesmaid attire, where we were greeted by a lady who I can only assume was the manager.
"You came back?" she gave a brisk smile to the bride and eyed us up and down. "So, these are your bridesmaids? Let me grab those two dresses you looked at so we can try them on. OK? And have you decided what fabric you like? Have you seen the fabric? Let's get the folder with the swatches so you can check those out while we're waiting for the dresses to be pulled," She spoke loudly and fast and I was somewhat convinced she may have had a quick sniff of coke in the loo before we arrived. She started yelling at one of the sales girls to grab the dresses that had been put back as if it were a matter of urgency, "You know, the Coren Moore's I put back last Friday? Oh and where's the folder the with the swatches?"
The bride sidled up to us, whispering out of the side of her mouth, "I don't know what her deal is. She wasn't quite this hyper last week."
A minute later as we looked through swatches of material, the lady came armed with two dresses. One was a short halter neck with a high waist band and an A-line skirt with pockets and the other was a short one shouldered dress cut high at the waist with a more full skirt. Both dresses were very cute and youthful. Two words I can safely say I don't use when describing myself these days!
The other bridesmaid tried on the dresses first. There were some stylish open toe high heels in the fitting room for us to try on too, to get the full look. Bridesmaid number one came out in the first dress and looked good. Although not petite, she's an attractive girl and (I noticed eyeing the shoes) she had beautifully pedicured toenails. The second dress was pretty flattering too. She declared she loved them both and would be happy wearing either on the big day.
When my turn came to try on dresses I realized that a) Not only had I not had a pedicure since last summer and my feet were looking gross and scaly, but b) I was wearing a very old, very saggy bra (Which was not doing my large sagging breasts any favors). And to top it all off c) when the hell was the last time I did any bodily grooming for heaven's sake? I had some nasty stubble under my arms, my legs were as hairy as big foot's and I was sporting some lovely dry cracked skin on my knees (winter in Chicago will do that to you if you don't lotion up every day and who has time to apply lotion to their whole body every day? I'm barely able to shower without my little guy pulling back the curtain and hurling toys and books into the bath tub. It's all I can do to manage avoiding being hit by flying Cookie Monster while rinsing the shampoo out of my hair).
I put on dress number one and was not surprised when I couldn't do the zip up all the way over my boobs. I gingerly made my way out of the dressing room mumbling something about how being a nursing mom had made my boobs even bigger than they were before (which was never small). I really hoped that nobody looked at my gross toes (which were sporting fluff from my socks under the toenails).
"Obviously I'll be shaving my legs and putting lotion on before the big day, so my legs won't look this bad," I snorted in embarrassment. The manager ignored me completely and continued chatting to the bride about fabrics and ordering dates and such. Bridesmaid number one gave me a sympathetic smile. Oh why on earth did I not think of shaving my legs and putting some gold bond on my knees? But, one positive, my large boobs, along with the high, thick waistband, did give the impression that my waist was tiny. And I liked the skirt with pockets. The off the shoulder number not only wouldn't do up over my boobs, but made my hips and ass look monstrous. So, it was dress number one for me. Bridesmaid number one chose that one too, and soon we were sent to a corner for crazy manager lady to get our measurements. She declared loudly that bridesmaid number one, being so tall would need to pay for extra fabric for the length. Then it was my turn. "Arms up," she barked, taking my bust, waist and hip measurements. "Oh, you're going to need the ten," she loudly announced. "You could have fitted into an eight, but your bust measurement is REALLY large. See?" she held up the sheet of paper she'd been writing on for me to see. "You'll have to get it altered to fit your body shape when it comes in. We can recommend a good alterations specialist, unless you have one, but you'll need someone skilled. If it weren't for your boobs..." Why the hell did she have to talk so loudly? Thanks lady. If I wasn't feeling sexy before, you just quashed any hope I ever had of feeling like a vixen now!
So, $256.00 later, my lovely size ten dress is ordered. It's less than three months until the wedding, and I'm almost sure I won't loose an ounce between now and then. I don't get to sleep at night, I deserve ice cream and beer. At least that's what I'm telling myself. Well, that and that I should head to Macys to buy myself a minimizer bra. With these "REALLY large" boobs tamed underneath a good brassiere, maybe, just maybe I'll be wearing my size 8 dress after all. And if not, well at least my armpits won't be stubbly, my legs will be silky smooth and my toes will beautifully pedicured. That's as long as I can make it out of the shower unscathed.

What the f*#k is wrong with Daddy?!!

My day started with my little guy getting out of bed (our bed where he has been sleeping every night for the past few months I might add, but that's another story) and grabbing at me while yelling "mamamamamamamamamama." It was 5:50 am. Not too terrible, considering there have been days when he's up at 5 sharp. But 7, no scratch that, 8 would be much better.
"Go see Daddy," I attempted in a bright voice. My husband made noises like he was pretending to still be in deep sleep. "Please, please, please take him? I'll give you twenty dollars if you take him," I nudged my husband. "Just for ten minutes. Pleeeaaaase?"
He roused himself and sat on the side of the bed. "Come see Daddy," he croaked, standing up with a sigh and finding a shirt to put on. But the little guy just stood by my bedside refusing to move. "Mama!" he chirped.
"Go see Daddy. Look! Daddy!" I attempted to make this sound very fun.
"No Maaamaaa," he wailed throwing himself on the floor.
"But it's too early and Mommy's not a morning person and the coffee grinder didn't even go off yet. Please go with Daddy. Mommy will be out soon. I promise."
"Mamamamamamama," by this time he had a firm grip on my hand and was flinging himself around trying to get me to move.
But I never ever go to bed early enough, and last night was no exception. And doesn't this boy know that mommy isn't a morning person, but that Daddy is? My husband picked up the boy and took him screaming and kicking out of the room. Anyone would think I'd just sent him off for a life of hard labor. It's just Daddy for crying out loud (sometimes literally). What's so bad about Daddy?
It's not like he doesn't spend quality time with his Dad, or isn't close with him. My husband is a teacher, so he's always home early enough to play with the boy in the evenings and we take turns bathing him and putting him to bed.
Sadly, I only got ten extra minutes of peace, because the husband had to get in the shower and get ready for work.
Happily when I did get out of the bed the coffee was made and I crept into the kitchen, sneaking up on my coffee pot in the hopes that I could get the milk and splenda in my cup before I was heard by my son. Sure enough little footsteps came pounding my way and soon he was tugging on my bath robe saying" Upppeeese, upppeeese." Well at least he's learned some manners. There's one thing I'm doing right.
When we got into the living room I noticed his right eye looked weird and swollen. We just took him to the doctor for an ear infection last Friday (the 6th one since december, they don't tell you about those in the manual), but this morning we had to go in again to get his eye checked out. Sure enough the poor little love has pinkeye. He looks like he went a few rounds with Mike Tyson. Wonderful! That's all our play dates (aka mom's coffee dates) cancelled for this week. Booo to that. So we took the dog to the park, went to pick up eye drops, attempted to put in eye drops, decided should definitely wait for hubby to hold down child while I administer said eye drops, I actually did some housework (well light picking up) and ran some errands before my husband got home and it was time to prepare dinner.
"Mommy's going to make dinner now, go play with Daddy for a few minutes, OK Love?" I said gently.
"No. Mama," he pouted.
"But Mommy has to get dinner ready, go with Daddy."
This time he stood between me and the oven (which luckily wasn't on, I'm more of a quick pasta dinner on the stove type person.) wrapping his arms around my legs and demanding "mamamamama," while stomping his feet.
I looked at my husband who stepped in to take him into the playroom and distract him with his train set, meanwhile the little guy was wailing like his life depended on it. I suppose I should be flattered, but sometimes I just want to ask him, "What the f@*K is wrong with Daddy? I married him, he can't be all that bad can he?!"
After eating (read, throwing on floor for dog to eat) dinner, he was finally distracted enough to allow his father to bathe him while I cleaned up and sat down to write this. I can hear him now, laughing and playing like nothing happened. What an emotional little roller coaster of a child. So perhaps Daddy's not so bad after all. In fact, maybe, just maybe, there will come a time where I can say, "What the f*&k is wrong with mommy?!!" But sadly, I don't think that time will come at 5:50 tomorrow morning. Better get the coffee pot prepared....