Tomorrow Better Darn Well Be A New Day

My son knows exactly how to knife me in the heart.

“I want another kiss and a hug! Waaaahawaaaaa…”

Oh, how cruel I am, closing the door gently after reading him four stories, two of them twice, bedtime a half hour late.

“Mama, I need another hug! Waaahaaaaawaaaaaa…”

“Bonhomme, it’s nighttime now. Sweet dreams, go to sleep. We can try again tomorrow to have a nice day together. Tomorrow’s always a new day.”

“No, not tomorrow!!! I’m nice, Mama! I’m a nice boy NOW! Waaahaaawaaa…”

Last night, after managing the post-daycare dinner shift by himself while I was at school, my husband picked me up, with sleeping son in tow.

“All debts have now been paid in full”, he told me. “You have a son. Still alive. Be grateful.”

It’s whine after whine these days chez nous. Scream after scream. Tantrum after tantrum. Surprise after surprise. The only thing predictable about our toddler’s behaviour these days is his unpredictability.

For all those parents out there who have marvelled at my son’s linguistic abilities, let me tell you once and for all that a toddler with a phenomenal vocabulary is the same as any other toddler.

“Mama, I want scrambled eggs!”

“Look, Daddy made you pancakes this morning! Aren’t you lucky!”

“Noooo, I want scrambled EGGS! Waahhhaaawaaaa…”

“But look, Bonhomme, Daddy even put banana in them!”

“No, I don’t want the banana in it! Take it out! Take the banana OUT! Waaahaaahawaaa…”

“Love, we can’t take the banana out, it got all mashed into the batter. But it will be so yummy, don’t they smell good?”

“I want scrambled eggs! With no banana in them! Waahawaaaaa…”

“Well, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to suffer with fresh warm banana pancakes this morning. Would you like them cut up with syrup on them, or whole and plain?”

“I want them just like that!”

“You don’t want any syrup today?”

“No, I want syrup, I do!”

“OK, that means we have to cut it up if we put syrup on, so you can eat it with a fork like a big boy.”

“Noooo! Don’t cut it up! I want it just like that!”

“OK then Love, here you go.”

“Mama, I want some syrup! Wahaaawaaahaaa…”

And on it goes.

And on.

And on.

Everything’s a crisis, morning to night.

“Momma, my pajama’s unrolled! It’s ruined! Wahaawaaahaaa…”

“Look Love, I just need to roll it back up again. See, all done.”

“No, it’s ruined! I ruined it!!! Wahaawaaaha…”

“Look Love, Momma fixed it. It’s perfect now. So, which book do you want first? Harvey the Baker?”

“No, I want Harvey the Carpenter! Wahhhaaawaaaa! Not Harvey the Baker! Wahaaawaaa…”

“We can read Harvey the Carpenter instead, it’s no trouble. Here it is.”

“No, not instead! I want both of them!”

At which point he does a little mad dance, while wailing, until both pant legs unroll.

“Momma, my pants are ruined! They are ruined! Wahaawaaaa…”

A half hour of this and I’m ready to blow a gasket. And then I get hit with it, after having finally made my escape, Mr. Sweetness-and-Light all tucked in.

“Momma, I want another kiss! Momma, I need a hug! Wahaaaawaaaa…”

It’s that he’s so reasonably unreasonable that does me in. How can I not get sucked in to explaining, cajoling, arguing, defending, and convincing? And it’s not like the little turkey doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, the conniving manipulator.

And so, of course, I go in to give him another hug.

“Momma, I need a kiss too.”

I kiss his sweet soft cheek.

“I need another hug.”

One more hug.

“No Momma, don’t go. Momma! MOMMAAAA!!!! Wahaaawaaaaa…”

I have a son. Still alive. And I’m grateful.

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1 comment so far

  1. Lynn on

    We have a two-year-old and our days are EXACTLY like this, too. It’s going to be a long year.


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