more on toddlerhood

I know it's my own fault for giving in to baby Doodle's delaying tactics, but I am so frustrated by the time I leave his room after putting him down for a nap or at night. Baby Doodle has figured out, in no time at all, that if he says he has to go to the potty I will bring him no matter what we're doing, even singing songs -- the last ritual in a long routine toward the crib. Today was no exception. After I had given him lunch, let him wash his own dishes in the sink with the help of a step stool, let him drag the vacuum cleaner to its designated spot in the guest room, brushed his teeth, let him brush Mr. Potato Head's teeth, let him turn on the air conditioner in his room and sang two songs to him, baby Doodle decided he had to go to the potty. Here's how it happened:

"I have to go potty."

"You have to pee or poop?"

"I have to go potty." (He only rarely says yes, sometimes he says uh huh affirmatively, but usually he just repeats what he wants.)

"Okay. Let's go."

I take his diaper and shorts off.

"I want to stand up to pee like Daddy."

He stands in front of his potty, within seconds he starts playing with the toy duck that is suctioned to the side of his bathtub.

I say, "Do you have to pee, or not?"

"I have to pee standing up."

"Okay, stand in front of the potty then."

He stands for a few seconds then loses interest, because he doesn't actually have to go. I put a new diaper on him, let him throw the old one in the diaper pail, and warn him that I'm only going to sing two verses of Old MacDonald before he has to go into his crib.

I let him climb the side of the crib and jump down into it. He started jumping around. I told him he had to lay down if he wanted me to put the blankets on him (yes, he insists on having not one, but two blankets placed over him even in the 90 degree heat (today is only in the 80s)). He protested. I insisted. He layed down and I covered him. Then he cried and whined. I don't know for how long because I left the room and came downstairs to prep the dinner I'm making tonight for a friend of ours who's coming to town from Michigan, and is a good cook himself.

There you have it. More evidence of the terrible twos.

I feel that I must add how wonderful BD is most of the time. He laughs a lot, plays by himself for long periods, speaks in complete sentences which is so adorable, gets really and truly excited by simple things like watching the Phillies with his dad, or going into his tiny baby pool. One night this week Mr. Doodlebug was home a little later than normal and I had made dinner already and portioned out some for BD so that it would start cooling right away. BD took it upon himself to climb into his chair and start eating so I sat down with him (my dinner still on the stove waiting for Mr. D to make his long awaited entrance). We were sitting at the table for a few minutes and BD said, "So, Mommy, what did you do today?" I chuckled a little then answered with a long winded account of all the major things I had done, almost all of which included him. Then I turned the question back to him. He said, "I played ball." He got such a kick out of it that we went around a few times with the same question. He is a lot of fun and watching him grow up every day is a wonderful experience that I cherish, even on days like this.