They are only two, after all. They are only two. Only two, I remind myself.
This morning, James wanted “gah-gas”. I pulled out crackers of every sort, put them in a bowl and set them on the table. Not good enough. What the heck. He screamed and cried, threw several mini-tantrums, and continued to yell for “gah-gas”. I call on my daily “calmer-downer”, my Mom. “What the heck am I doing wrong? This is driving me nuts?” She stated, “It sounds like a case of misunderstanding”. Dang, of course!!! It’s not crackers he wants, it’s yogurt. Of course. Gah-gas. How could I have missed that.
As for bodily functions…
7:45pm: Elsa calls out for “Mommy”. Mommy ignores her as she has been calling out for me in her sleep for some time now and she typically settles within minutes. I do, however, jump when I hear “Mommy, wet!” This typically happens shortly after going to bed, and means that she has torn a wet diaper off and thrown it out of the crib. It’s as though she has a partitioned bladder with a section specifically for this purpose.
Since no “wet” was included in the call-out, I chose to ignore it.
11:28m: More “Mommy, Mommy, MOMMY!” from Elsa. After about 10 minutes, I give in. I discover her sleeping in a self-created moat around her comforter. The other partition in the bladder obviously gave way (the larger one) and, seeing as how her diaper had been outside of her crib, on the floor, for the past four hours…
The entertainment value, just as I was settling into a good night’s sleep, wasn’t quite as high as this one:
Mommy takes a shower. While I indulge in what may be the only time I’ll have to myself until bedtime, I hear, “Elsa, what did you do?” I chuckle to myself and get back to enjoying the steaming hot water pounding down on my sore back muscles. Then again, with a little more annoyance, “Elsa, why did you do that?” I take my time, step out of the shower and am promptly beckoned, “Hon, would you look at this?” I peek my head out the door and see that Elsa has removed her diaper (not a surprise) and dumped a huge poo on the floor. I smirk, close the door, and quietly bust a gut laughing. Later, Pete asks, “Why was that so funny?” That’s easy, I reply, “Number one, it happened. Number two, it happened to you!”
In all fairness, Pete handled the situation with about as much grace as anyone could. Thanks, honey!