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Oct. 4th, 2008 12:05 amI have rather mixed feelings about my son this week.
On the one hand: cute! OMG. This morning, on the way into daycare, he waved at a truck and got it to honk back at him. His bears need to dance. Also, they need kisses. Sometimes he addresses these needs himself, and sometimes he comes to us for help. He likes to stack things, and unstack them, and restack them, and the game known as "Things In Things" continues to absorb and entertain. He continues to be a bold little kid, scaling and conquering playground equipment that terrifies his mother. He is sometimes very obliging, even helpful.
On the other: This evening, he asked me to peel him an orange, and then took the pieces in his little baby fists and and squirted orange juice all over the kitchen. He protested the confiscation of this wonderful new toy by screaming, but would not eat it when it was offered to him as food. He has taken to swinging sticks like baseball bats, particularly at his father's crotch. He wants to go for walks, and he wants not to hold my hand, and nothing is surer to tempt him than power tools in use on the other side of a busy street. He's going to be the death of me, and when I die, they're going to put my most important message to my son on my headstone: "Gentle with the kitties!"
Some moments I can barely look at him, he's so beautiful. Other moments, I would pay the circus to take him away.
On the one hand: cute! OMG. This morning, on the way into daycare, he waved at a truck and got it to honk back at him. His bears need to dance. Also, they need kisses. Sometimes he addresses these needs himself, and sometimes he comes to us for help. He likes to stack things, and unstack them, and restack them, and the game known as "Things In Things" continues to absorb and entertain. He continues to be a bold little kid, scaling and conquering playground equipment that terrifies his mother. He is sometimes very obliging, even helpful.
On the other: This evening, he asked me to peel him an orange, and then took the pieces in his little baby fists and and squirted orange juice all over the kitchen. He protested the confiscation of this wonderful new toy by screaming, but would not eat it when it was offered to him as food. He has taken to swinging sticks like baseball bats, particularly at his father's crotch. He wants to go for walks, and he wants not to hold my hand, and nothing is surer to tempt him than power tools in use on the other side of a busy street. He's going to be the death of me, and when I die, they're going to put my most important message to my son on my headstone: "Gentle with the kitties!"
Some moments I can barely look at him, he's so beautiful. Other moments, I would pay the circus to take him away.
