I’ve been meaning to write this out for a couple of weeks now, but I’ve been so busy (so not living up to my resolution to blog more).
Sometimes I like to go to bed after Liam goes to bed (8:15pm-ish). I get kind of excited, actually. Anyways, I laid down around 8:30, and fell asleep fast, not as fast as my husband, but faster than normal.
At 10:30, I woke up, abruptly, to things falling, cabinets banging, and shit being beat on. I was immediately pissed. But that wasn’t any where near the red I would see when I got to my lovely 2 year old.
I went into his room, which was terribly askew: his bed pulled into the middle of the room, his table pulled out as well, his lotion, powder, wipes… Scattered. Fucking scattered. And all his toys were dumped out in his closet. Every. Last. One. But, he was no where to be seen. Then I heard him in his bathroom. Oh goodie.
As I enter the bathroom, there he is, sitting in the sink, eating jelly beans. The jelly beans that he gets when he uses the potty. He looked so cute, that I couldn’t even be mad anymore. But that soon changed when I had him stand up to give me a hug. The smell would have gagged a moggot on a gut wagon.
“Did you poop?! You’re supposed to poop in the potty!” “Yes, I pooped. Change my butt.” (You HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME). There, of course, isn’t a diaper to be found in his room, so I frantically search the house, and find one on the kitchen counter. What. The. Fuck.
I take him into his room and lay him on his bed to change him. His bed is SOAKING wet. He had taken the top off his sippy cup and dumped the water out in his bed… So, I had to change his sheet while I was in there too. ‘What. The. Fuck.” I mouthed.
After he got changed, he started hollering for his pap-pap. “Where the hell is it?” I asked (nicely). “In my cwoset.” I told him he was shit out of luck. No way was I sifting through all those toys to find a pap-pap. I went to look in the kitchen cabinet where we keep his pacifiers, and you guessed it… There was none. I SLAMMED the cabinet door, in hopes of waking Nick (hey, if I’m dealing with this bullshit, he’s at least gonna get woke up abruptly as well).
I finally throw my hands in the air, and tell my kid, eye to eye, “If you get back up, and cause me to have to get up, I’ll beat you to DEATH.” (Of course, I never would… I love the shit out him). He didn’t have an ounce of fear in him. “Night, night mommy!”
I heard him again later in the night… I just went back to sleep. I don’t know if he has insomnia, or maybe just ADD like me, but he’s gonna need to learn to sleep at night.
Toddlers: worse people than serial killers.