Yesterday I put Ethan on his first time out. "Wait, isn't he too young for that?" you might be wondering. Au contraire.
Since turning one, Ethan's had no problem expressing his opinions, even when those opinions are not the ones sanctioned by Mommy and Daddy.
And especially when he has the opportunity to express those opinions before the sun has come up.
Yesterday morning, Noah left for work shortly after 6, and I spent the next few minutes before drifting back to sleep praying hardcore for Ethan to sleep in. (How does one pray hardcore? It involves facial contortions and breath holding.) Naturally, the little bugaboo woke up at 7:15, which is in fact earlier than normal. So I did what any sane person would do.
I called Noah and begged him to come home and babysit.
While I was on the phone, pleading my lost cause, Ethan was overcome with the desire to hold the phone and talk to Daddy. Which would be really cute if "talking to Daddy" meant something other than "pressing as many buttons as possible before Mom takes the phone away." And when I took that phone? Well. Chernobyl sounds like the right adjective. I warned him calmly, but apparently he couldn't hear me through all the wailing and gnashing of teeth and rending of garments in twain.
So into his crib he went, for a one-minute time out. After the minute had passed, I retrieved him and set him on the floor of the spare room, where I was folding laundry (because what else can you do when your kid is having a meltdown, other than pretend like the task at hand is domestic bliss, your idea of the perfect Sunday butt-crack-of-dawn morning?). For the next few minutes, Ethan stared at me while lying silent on his back on the floor, in protest.
That really set the tone for the rest of the day, in which Ethan fell of the bed (my bad, and I think my shout of terror scared him more than the fall did); was devastated when Dad had to go back to work after lunch; became irritated by the ridiculously strong gusts of wind on our walk; then got stuck under an end table going after a stray ball.
At least it was sunny.
..and it doesnt hurt that he is the cutest
Welcome to the toddler years, sista. If I had a cent for every one of those.... well, maybe I could pay off that credit card.
I'm pretty sure I read about this in The Joys of Parenting. Then again, maybe not...
I am so jealous if 7:15 am is butt-crack-of-dawn for you! =-) It's a good day here if we don't see a smiling face by 7am...my 17-month old was up talking at 5:30 yesterday morning - that was a fun day :-) Love your posts!
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