Maybe too big.
It honestly is starting to seem like my son is getting, perhaps, a little spoiled on getting to see his grandparents and aunts and cousins so often.
He's developed an expectation that he can just see or talk to his extended family whenever he wants. Sometimes, when we're driving home from preschool, he'll start demanding, "Poppa. Mimi." When I don't acquiesce and turn off on the road in our subdivision that leads to their house, and he realizes we're really going home, he'll start to cry.
The other day he picked up my phone and started repeating his older cousin's name, holding the phone up to his hear and then out to me, making it clear he wanted to talk to her. I texted my sister and she said it was fine, so I let him call his cousin.
A phone conversation between a not-quite-three-year-old and a not-quite-two-year-old is about as dumb and pointless as you'd imagine. Remember when you got your first middle school boyfriend or girlfriend, how stupid those phone calls were? This was almost that bad.
It really is great that everyone is so close, and it's so sweet how much he loves them, and I am really so thankful for all of it. But nothing excuses the way he acted this past Saturday.
Since babies have no real concept of weekends, my son got us up at 7:00. That would be okay, but I've been really sick with a sinus infection going on three weeks now, and I had to get my shower first thing to wake up and decongest.
Though he has his daddy and his pets and all his toys outside with him, my son gets something akin to panic attacks when I close him out of the bathroom to take a shower. So while I was trying to wake up and relax, he was banging on the bathroom door, yelling for me. He even dug through my purse, pulled out my driver's license and showed it to my husband, saying "mama", to make it really clear why he was upset. If he could have filed a missing person report, I think he would have.
Of course, once I got out of the shower, he was elated to see me for about thirteen seconds. It turns out, he just needed his chauffeur.
I hadn't even gotten out of my towel and he was handing me my purse and coat. "Gotta go. See Poppa. See Mimi. Gotta go!"
I tried to explain to him that, no honey, it was 8:00 am on a Saturday, and Mommy was not going anywhere. We had planned to go over to my parents' house around 4:00 to watch basketball. So for the next few hours we would manage to successfully distract from his mission for only a few minutes before he was trying to put on his shoes or pack his own diaper bag. (He remembered his seahorse, sippy cup, and baby wipes, but forgot extra diapers.) At one very dramatic point, he was staring out the rain-spattered window, pudgy little toddler hands pressed up against the glass, wailing "Poppa!". I fear he has a future in musical theater.
Finally, around noon, I called my dad and told him we'd have to come over early. In a Hulk-styled fit of rage, my son had flipped over his spring horse by the frame (lengthwise, even).* I realized then we'd reached the breaking point of his patience.
And if he was going to commit any further property damage, he could do it at Poppa & Mimi's house.
*No, though I should have, I did not punish my son for that tantrum. I was in shock and, honestly, kind of afraid to.
1 comment:
From what I've read previously, he already commits a bit of property damage at his Poppa's house.
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