I don’t like my baby. Not one bit. He is practicing…. practicing real hard to be a terrible two year old. He’s sure to be a professional by June. My ears hurt from the perpetual screeching all afternoon, for no discernible reason. My feet hurt from his sneakered feet raking across the tops of my feet and up my shins, trying to literally climb me. No toy, book, or snack would satisfy, at least not for long. No semblance of reasoning ability in sight, only teethmarks. All I hear is NOO, MIIINE, and UH UH! I hesitate to give him what he wants (in the event I actually figure out what that might be), because I don’t want to reward bad behavior. But I just want the boy to SHUT. UP. There I said it. And I am sure some moms will crucify me for it. But this week has been one I won’t commemorate in his baby book. You know what they say about “If you can’t say something nice…”
I don’t know the exact number of personal effects Zac has destroyed in the past 48 hours, including my new lipstick he got his little mitt-grippers on this morning and smashed into his booster seat. But my favorite classical CD tops today’s list. I know, I know, who still has CDs, right? (This girl.) It was a copy of Vivaldi’s greatest I got free from a pharmaceutical company in 1998. It survived the back end of my teenage years, four years of college, and three moves. But not an afternoon with Zac Perry and his evil-doing hands. I really don’t like him.
So tonight after he went to sleep… finally… I tiptoed into his room to peek in on him, as I do every night. I got his monkey blanket to cover him up cozy, and as I looked over the crib bar expecting to brush the hair back from around his little horns, I saw my angel. My angel that gives me good morning kisses and tucks his face into my hair when it’s cold out. My angel that crawls into my lap on the sofa and says, “Hole me, mommy.” My angel who wants to hold my hand while I’m driving. (Inconvenient, but sweet nonetheless.) And I was overwhelmed with the desire to crawl into his sugarbowl– that little perfect smooth spot on his neck, behind his ear– and go to sleep there. I watched him for a moment or two more, listening to his whuffly breathing, and I decided maybe I do like him. Maybe just a little bit.