It's 10:15, and my son has discovered that he can use potty-training as yet another weapon in his arsenal of stall tactics. As he looks at me with extreme concentration, he grunts and says, "This is getting interesting." I'm dead serious.
He squeezes out a tiny little dookie, gets a treat, and says he has to go again in five to ten minutes. This is ridiculous, not interesting, and I desperately need to reclaim the hours after 8:00 pm as MY TIME. Also, the hours before 7:30 am.
This morning he woke me by coming into my room, grabbing my bright pink bra off the doorknob (I'm very classy, yes, thank you), and saying, "I wearing Momma's boobs!" while holding it up against his chest and dancing back and forth.
Today, after I painstakingly restored his Transformer to its motorcycle shape, he tried to take it apart again, saying, "I going to fix it myself....I trying to...(grunt)...It's not working very good for me. I don't know how to do it."
He is kicking my butt, or, as HE would say, with a huge grin, "I beat you! I beat your bottom!"
No, I've never said that to him. I don't know where he learned it. Really. Did you teach him?
2 comments:
That sounds painful. Next free weekend I have, I am going to see if I can come up to give you a little sane (if less-than-sober) company.
not it. however, i think your son is adorable and charming. you can drop him off here anytime!
n
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