Effects

Rather than detailing your behavior, I shall instead list here the effects of your behavior and let you guess about the causes.

1. It is 7:30 and Mommy is on glass #2 of wine.

2. At 5:15pm you were in your highchair, facing toward the T.V. instead of the dinner table, eating cheesy noodles and watching a PBS cartoon show called Word Girl while Daddy and I mindlessly stuffed bad Chinese food into our faces.

3. At 5:30pm I gave you a fortune cookie. At 5:32 I realized that the fortune itself had disappeared. At 5:33 I realized I didn't care and actually had a vague hope that perhaps ingesting the fortune directly might permit a small bit of wisdom to enter your bloodstream.

4. This afternoon, I sat on the couch crying with the vacuum on beside me and my fingers plugging my ears to drown out the sound of you screeching.

5. Intermittently, I considered exactly how long you might last if I placed you snugly in a snow bank. Then I thought about jail and how much time I would have to read books in my cell.

6. I have spent the last twenty minutes googling things such as "sleep disturbance fifteen months," "night waking toddler," and "why won't my child fucking go to sleep." Varying levels of success.

7. I found washing lemon sauce and deep fried chicken bits off our dinner plates to be relaxing and luxurious.

8. I prayed for patience.

Cutlery

One of the oddest things about life with you is that some things that I never would have previously thought would be a battle are indeed a battle. Things such as: getting you to sit in a car seat or stroller, putting on your coat, changing your diaper, getting you out of the bathtub, peeling apples in the kitchen without you throwing a hissy fit. All of these things are, continuously, battles of epic proportions.

Conversely, things I would previously have thought might require training or coaxing or wrestling moves turn out to be pretty easy. Case in point: eating with cutlery.

One day, about two weeks ago, you simply decided that spoons and forks were the way to go. Now, if we put spoonable or forkable food on your highchair tray WITHOUT a bowl, fork and spoon to accompany said food item, you simply will not eat it. You are not, after all, a barbarian. You have a refined sense of class. That's why you like to scrape the wax off of candles with your teeth.

Nausea

It's been a week of nausea. Your lovely outbreak of sickness was followed by sickness for Grandma (Monday), Mama (Tuesday), and Dada (Wednesday). Luckily, all of us weren't sick at the same time. Thus, GM Ricki, GP Peter, and GD Xena were all able to come down on Wednesday (and GM again on Thursday) to offer some much needed help.

You have mostly been a clingy and whiny stinkbug. Today I had you in the morning. And we had no plans. And, though I love you, five hours without the respite of a nap when you only want to be held ALL THE TIME is kind of a recipe for Homicidal Mama. In order to defend against my growing homicidal tendencies, I brought you up to St. Olaf so that you could run around, see Daddy, pet the Christmas trees, get roasty (I mean, toasty) by the fire, etc. You refused to walk on your own. It's possible we were playing "polio epidemic" or "fun with landmines" and that's why you wanted me to carry you--but if so, you need to be clearer about the kind of imaginative outcomes you're hoping for.

Last night, however, you broke out a whole bunch of adorable. When we Skyped with GM Gail and GP Michael, you walked in front of the computer screen (and camera) and delivered--literally--a five minute lecture to them complete with finger shaking, head nods, and a flurry of hand waves. Behind you, Daddy and I were convulsing with laughter.

You have learned to blow kisses and, admittedly, that's pretty fucking cute.

Though the stomach bug has passed through our house, my nausea continues. There are many things up in the air right now, many decisions that will be made by others or by us in the upcoming weeks that could have some big effects on our lives. And yes, I'm being purposefully vague. The point is just that it is possible that you're being a miserable witch because I'm kind of a miserable witch right now too. "It seems like you have trouble living with ambiguity," said your father to your mother during their very first phone conversation. This made Mommy think that Daddy was an asshole and prompted a vow never to talk to him again. But it *may* be possible that he was a *tiny* bit right. I have trouble living with ambiguity and you have trouble with me when I'm having trouble with anything.

Oh well, I'm sure the single digit temps and impending snow storm will have us all in better moods in a jiffy.

At least I don't have trouble living with sarcasm.