Friday, March 27, 2009

Pickle Fit

Today started as most mornings do with Biddy waking up around 6am. I went in and got him along with his paz, lovey, and loveyboo, (quite a feat in the dark, I'll tell you) and carried him and his crew back into bed with us. This tradition began when Biddy was six-months-old and graduated from co-sleeper to crib kid. 

He has his own tiny pillow, positioned smack dab in the middle of our massive King-size pillows, so he has a special place to rest his head each morning. He either snuggles up to one of us and falls back asleep (the optimal outcome) or lies quietly, fingering lovey and sucking his paz for 40-50 minutes. When he starts getting restless, is when you know you're in trouble. When he begins tossing and turning, I know I have only a matter of warm, sleepy seconds before Biddy leans over, nose to nose, and asks in his best morning kid-whisper, "Mommy, want to get UP?" Some days I don't, (okay–most days I don't) and either ask for one more snuggle which is accomplished by Biddy shimmying over and sharing my pillow, or just straight up saying I need five more minutes of curled up bliss. This is when I role over, tuck into a fetal position and hope five minutes actually means a full five minutes this time. 

So after "five" more minutes, Biddy gets down and retrieves my comfy pants and sweatshirt from the chest next to our bed. I trained him so well! It's nice not to have to get up out of my toasty bed AND be cold! One assault on the system is enough. He then makes a beeline to the living room to scour for cat throw-up (he's perfected the art of discovery) and reacquaint himself with his toys, while I make a beeline for the bathroom. 

Next stop: the kitchen. The tea kettle is started, the cats are given cookie treats and before Gracie, the queen of shrill, begins to cry incessantly, their water and food bowls are refilled. Speaking of shrill, within about five minutes of being vertical, Biddy wails, "Mommy, I hungry!" When he howls it, I have to act fast with Superwoman speed. Food MUST be produced and inserted in his mouth before his stomach growls too loudly because if I'm too slow or distracted, Biddy throws a Sarah Bernhardt inspired, fling himself onto floor, fists and feet flailing, tear shedding tantrum that can rival the best toddlers in the world. This is something I try to avoid at just past 7am.

Unfortunately, this morning Biddy wanted a pickle for breakfast and I said no. I offered cereal, oatmeal, a breakfast bar, applesauce, apple slices, yogurt and waffles but none of the above were the pickle he wanted and "no" was not the answer he was looking for. His tantrum went from Mach 1 to Mach 5 in an instant and the day was off to a banner beginning. Biddy then, in his anger, hit me. I gave him a stern warning saying if he did it again he was going into time-out, and of course he did it again almost instantly. Argh.


So–Biddy went into time-out, a minute passed, we had a recap convo, he said he was sorry, we kissed and hugged and went on with our day. The next time-out was about seven minutes later for pulling Tigger's tail, and the next about eleven minutes after that for hitting me again, and then another, and another, and yet another. 

I almost cancelled our play date because of the discord, but I really needed a break and an adult to commiserate with. Biddy was a gem–nothing like the snarl-toothed toddler he was before we left the house. I complained ad nauseam to Jennifer and then he proved me wrong. Huh? He was the poster boy for good behavior. Where was the crazy kid who terrorized me this morning?

Of course as soon as we got home, the crazy kid was back. I couldn't wait to put him down for a nap. I counted the seconds. He's now asleep and I'm deep breathing, trying to calm down and ready myself for the afternoon. I'm also thinking about my hair. I know that sounds weird, but it's a wonder I still have it. I seriously contemplate pulling it out on days like today–days when our sweet angelic Biddy has a pickle fit and turns into sour Darth Vader!

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