Confessions of a Teenage Mother
Today was a fun day. The boy was fun, he entertained himself a little bit, giving me bits of time to myself. I was able to clean the kitchen and keep the house clean. He even took a three hour nap. An enormous rarity. He usually takes like an hour nap if that. The day went fast, it was a sharp contrast to yesterday.
It started off well, and quickly dwindled. We ate breakfast and I tried to clean up the kitchen. I was trying to clean off the counter and make some tea and put pictures into an album. The boy came over and knocked over my grande cup of tea on the pictures. I then had to lie them all out over all the surfaces of the kitchen hoping that they would not turn purple or lose their color. I was then forced to give up my hopes of cleaning the kitchen.
We then went upstairs to clean the bathroom, I took the broom with me. Things were going pretty well, I would give him a clorox wet wipe so he could do what I was doing. But he got bored with that pretty quickly and decided to play with the broom, which he started wielding as an s-word. It was funny for the first hit, the second infuriated me, the third hit I took it away from him and all hell broke loose.
He pretty much blubbered for the entire rest of the day. He would not remove himself from my thigh, if he could have implanted himself in my leg he would have. There was not escaping the child. That was pretty much the end of the happiness yesterday. I won’t endlessly describe the rest of the day, mostly because I seem to have blocked it from my memory.
How can these days, when we do basically the same thing everyday and all day, be so starkly different? How do the moods of a 23 month old child dictate the direction of a day?