Monday, October 5, 2009

The edge of reason

It's the toddler's bedtime. The lovely husband checks one more time with her that she doesn't want any more chicken. No more eat! she yells at him. He grabs pajamas and diaper and wipes and two pacifiers (one for each hand). He lifts her high in the air and lays her gently on the family room carpet. He removes her leggings, her socks, he changes her diaper. He tries to remove her dress. No! Mommy do! "Fine," he says. "Go to Mommy."

I spent most of today standing and I'm gestationally responsibly resting my feet on the coffee table, lounging on the couch. My laptop is (living up to its name) on my lap and the lovely husband's laptop is on the table. The power cord drapes across the couch to his computer. She comes to me, PJ shirt in hand. Mommy do! she implores. "Sure, love," I tell her, and I lift her over the power cord. Husband retreats to the kitchen to eat her extra chicken. He's just gotten home. He's hungry.

No! she yells at me. I do! She crawls under the power cord to try to climb over the power cord. In doing so, she sees her father's traitorous act. My dishen! I want eat!

"Do you want more chicken?" he asks. She nods. "Let Mommy take your dress off and I'll bring you more chicken." She nods again. She turns again towards me, tries to climb over the power cord. The cord pulls out of the computer. She stops to inspect it. "It's all right, love. Let's just get your dress off," I say to her. No! I do! She walks away from me to the far side of the computer. She tries to plug in the cord. The lovely husband arrives, chicken in hand. "L, do you want this chicken?" She nods. "Let's plug in the cord and you can eat and we can get your dress off." No, Daddy! I do! She pushes his hand away from hers, and successfully inserts the power cord into the jack. Surprised at her own success, she pulls it out. She looks at it, tries again. "L, do you want this chicken?" No! All done dishen! He eats the chicken. MY DISHEN!!

MOMMMMYYYYY!!
She runs back to my side of the table, wailing. "It's okay, sweetie. Let's just get your 'jamas on, okay?" She nods. I take her dress off. I try to put her PJ shirt on. No! Daddy do! She climbs out of my arms and across the fallen power cord. She begins to reach for it. The lovely husband pulls out the Hail Mary, the reason we haven't paci-weaned her yet. "L, do you want your pacis?" She nods and runs to him, suddenly ready to please. He gets her pajama pants on. She grabs the shirt from his hands and return to me. Mommy do? she asks this time, with puppy dog solicitous eyes. "Sure love," I acquiesce, because 'jama shirt time even after all these shenanigans still means some bare-belly rubs, and everyone knows kiddie belly rubs will cure my tired feet better than elevating on an old coffee table.

Finally nocturnally attired, she turns to me, satisfied. "Are you ready for bed, love?" She nods to me. "Could I get any kisses?" She smiles at me, cocking her head mischievously. "Do you have any kisses for me before you go upstairs with Daddy?" No, Mama. I no kisses. I got pacis!! She smiles and jumps off my lap.

The lovely husband scoops her up. "Are you ready to go upstairs?" No, Daddy. I want eat. Pin It