Why does everything have to be a battle? All I want is a little cooperation. It starts first thing in the morning. He wakes up next to us, the same way he falls asleep at night, thrashing about. He clobbers his father and he pulls my hair. He kicks me in the face. He laughs, as we grumble. I just want to sleep for another 20 minutes. He's calling out "nook" (milk) and "weeoohs" (Wiggles). Okay, I'll get him some milk and turn on the Wiggles. Yay. 20 minutes more of blissful, twilight drifting.
Finally, I wake. I try to change his diaper, but he escapes from my grip and climbs down off the bed. The chase is on. He bonks his head on the wall that he just ran into, so now he's crying while I, opportunistically, grab him and whisk him off to the changing table. He won't lay down, so I bribe him with a pair of shoes to play with, as a distraction. Diaper off. Wiping his bottom. He's bouncing his legs and so I can't get this darned diaper fastened...hold...still...grrh..there! Finally! Now off with you.
I think I'll sneak off to check my email. No such luck. I'm spotted. He climbs under the desk and surfaces into my lap. He's banging on the keyboard. I'm outta here. Come on Max, let's eat. So, I make him breakfast. Cream of wheat. He takes a couple bites. Now he wants to experiment. "Hmmmm...what will happen if I shake this spoon full of cereal into the air?" I end up wiping cream of wheat off of everything...the high chair, Max's hair, the dogs fur, the wall. He complains as I wipe his face.
So, how about a cup of tea (for me) and a little morning news...well, it sounds better than the experience turns out to be. I have to struggle over my own cup of tea, which he keeps trying to grab from me, until it spills in my lap. Then, I have to struggle over the remote control, which he keeps trying to grab from me. He finally succeeds and throws it, forcefully, onto the tile floor. I'm amazed that it still works, considering how many hits it's taken over the past year.
(to be continued)