I picked him up out of bed the way I always do, hugging him close to my body. He asked me to make pancakes. I pointed out the window at the the moon and said that maybe when it traded places with the sun, maybe when Daddy and Tucker were up, we could cook breakfast. I handed him milk instead, which caused him to dump a freak out on the front doorstep of my day.
He reeeeeally wanted pancakes. With pickles. Right now.
He eats pickles with everything. Pancakes for breakfast? With a pickle, please. Peanut butter and jelly for lunch? With a pickle. Pizza for dinner? A pickle, too.
He didn’t want the milk. He didn’t want a fresh diaper. He just wanted pancakes. I get it - when I want pancakes, I want pancakes. But his display of temper felt so predictable I practically yawned through it. Maybe I did actually yawn. He has a strong sense of entitlement, but mostly in a nice way.
Once he calmed himself down he scooted closer to me on the couch. We begin most days together in the same spot, him with milk and me with coffee, while the rest of the world sleeps. After some snuggling and some conversation about diggers and some Mom, I love yous he asked again: Now can we cook pancakes? Similar to the way he’ll stand at the edge of the water and throw rock after rock after rock, I knew he was just observing his influence on the world.
It’s strong. And I think my coffee, and my resolve, need to be stronger to compete.
2 comments:
The days are long, but the years are short...isn't that how the saying goes? I hope this season of little sleep and boundaries pushed finds its end quickly. Much love and many hugs.
Jenni Baby,
Try this...
A) Put the TV on the cartoon station.
B) Give him a large milk and a full jar of pickles.
C) Go back to bed.
L2A
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