After years of being a wretched little bitch myself, sooner or later it was. . .
LITERALLY. . .
Going to come back to bite me.
And this morning was the day of reckoning.
Mac started his sweet little whimper at 5:30 this morning.
These days when there’s a sound from the nursery, I wait it out a few moments. I like to think of it as being a more exhausted, apathetic, confident parent.
Chris managed to sneak off to work undetected but moments afterwards, Mac’s dissatisfaction with his current diaper/stomach/sleeping arrangements reached a crescendo.
I stumbled out of bed and staggered downstairs to get some milk for him.
I entered his room and smiled sleepily at him. Immediately his wailing turned to laughter. The little sack of sugar is mocking me isn’t he?
I grab a diaper and scoop him up and put him in our bed.
We cuddle and he sucks down nearly 6 ounces of whole milk without protest.
Ahhhh. . .Excellent. We’re just going to doze off together now for another half hour. How sweet. . .
OUCHMOTHEREFEROUCH!!!! What the hell was that?
Did he just bite my arm?
And then as if I had asked the question out loud, he came at my forearm again like it was a damned Granny Smith Apple.
Asked and answered, counselor.
My still half-asleep brain can’t even begin to contemplate what an appropriate response would be at this moment.
So I scoop him into my arms and offer him the last bit of milk in the bottle.
This is met with the angriest little face I have ever seen followed in rapid succession by his grabbing the flesh on the side of my neck and pinching and twisting violently.
Where the hell did he learn that move? I didn’t learn that until first grade recess! Kids are advanced these days.
Now that he has my full attention. . .well except for the area of my brain that processes pain. . .which is radiating from my right forearm and the right side of my neck (and the part of my brain concerned it’s going to look as if I have some kinda’ white trash hickey). . .
Ok. So now that he has most of my attention. . .
He’s not wet. He’s not hungry. He’s not cold. He has a favorite Linus blanket. . .
Am I the offending party?
I hold him in my arms feeling slightly helpless.
“Use your words,” I whisper. “Momster doesn’t know what you need. Use words.”
Yes, I refer to myself as the Momster. . .It kinda’ makes me laugh. Until I actually become a monster. . .which on mornings like this one. . .could be in the ensuing minutes. . .
Of course, his vocal communication skills are limited. He can make sheep and turkey sounds. He can make a fake cough. He can say “Brrrrrrr.” He can make um farting noises (to much fanfare from his Father and much to my dismay). He can say “good bye, come back” and “blue.”
So unless his problem is gas. . .Or a blue turkey, we have reached the limits of our ability to verbally communicate with one another.
I finally resolve the situation by placing him in his crib with a host of plastic shit until I can make the bed, brush my teeth and brew a cup of coffee. That’s when I catch the little vampire trying to go back to sleep with the rapidly approaching dawn.
No way. Not on your cute little tushy are you going back to bed. . .
And as I’m walking in the park with the little darling, I’m wondering if perhaps all that baby sign language stuff doesn’t have way more merit than I previously thought. . .
But he won’t even wave when I ask him too.
How’s he going to learn how to spell out “I hate you this morning devil woman”?
And do I want him to?
Thoughts on “baby” sign language? Will we have fun? Will he crush me with non-verbal insults? Do you feel it helps language development or maybe delays it a bit? Does it matter so long as you know how to help your child?
Most importantly? Will he start talking to himself so I can spend more time on Pinterest? Ha!