This morning Cracker woke up on the wrong side of the crib. Nothing usual these days, right? No, today was different. Today he was my little boy again, 2 instead of 3. He wasn't pissed at me or even the world. This is the kind of day where I know what to expect. This is the kind of day that I know how to handle. It's going to be lots of hugs, kisses, gentle words, cuddling with his favorite blankie while I hold him like a baby and gently stroke his hair. Today, you see, the universe has been plotting against him, and nothing is going to go his way. Today everything is TRAGIC.
When tragedy strikes, the scene plays out in slow motion: first his face falls, then it falls some more. A little pout emerges; his lower lip begins to quiver. A sad little hiccup of a cry escapes and big, fat tears start silently rolling down his cheeks. The sadness in his eyes deepens and his face scrunches up until his lids are completely shut. A series of tiny sobs follows, bringing with them the commencement of audible crying. The rest of his body follows, shoulders hunch inwards, back folds over and he melts into this little ball of a guy. Why me?
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He wakes up perfectly happy. We go pee, flush, wash hands and he's off to the playroom to make sure we haven't sold his toys on Ebay. Nope, everything is just as it should be. He grabs a truck and continues to the kitchen to grab a cup of water I always leave for him on his high chair. Except this morning I forgot to fill it. Oh, the pain! The world has run out of water.
Tragedy has struck.
As soon as he calms down, he finds the courage for breakfast. He wants a welwoh spoon for his yogurt because welwoh is one of his newest words. They are both dirty. (Because I'm nuts I don't trust hand washing. Everything must go in the dishwasher, case closed.) Green, red and two separate hues of blue just won’t do.
Tragic.
We sit through 35 minutes of Sesame Street for Elmo’s World to come on, but it’s a repeat from one of his videos.
Tragic.
It actually rains (very uncommon here) but it’s way too windy to go out and dance like hippies in the driveway for all the neighborhood to see. (And there's lightening too, so hell no.)
Tragic.
We have an accident.
Tragic.
He wants to wear his favorite Matchbox fire truck underwear (that have been discontinued so I can’t get another pair though lord knows I’ve tried) but I didn’t have a chance to wash them after a poo explosion last night.
Will it ever end? My poor baby, he's only been up two hours.
But like I said, dealing with tragedy is something I'm good at. It doesn't drive me nuts like a tantrum or plain ol' defiance. You just can't get angry when tragedy strikes. It's just too darn sad. So you stay at home, have a quiet, low profile day and try to make the best of it. No trips to the park...he'll fall within 5 minutes and then want to leave. You don't go anywhere where you might be tempted to buy him some big new toy or a dozen ice cream cones just to see one little smile, because honestly, that will just go South too. The toy will break. The ice cream will be dropped, yes, all 12 times. There's just nothing you can do.
But today we can't stay home. WE HAVE TO GO TO THE DMV TODAY. Grrrrrreat.
(Part 2, dealing with the DMV, I'll write tomorrow. I'm drained. I'm going to go soak in my big tub with an assload of bubbles and hit the sack early. Good night.)
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