The Countdown

Mazin has finally entered the counting phase. I count to three and he jumps to fulfill my wishes. "I'm going to count to three and you need to come put on your socks," I say. He drops whatever distraction is holding us up and runs over to me, suddenly obedient. What is it about counting, anyway? And how many blissful days, weeks, or months do I get until this wondrous spell wears off?!? He has already turned the tables once, warning me, when refused some desired object, most likely a cookie: "I'm going to count to three and you have to go to your room!" I couldn't help but smile, but I managed to stifle my laugh. My own threats sound so ridiculous when they are turned against me. Go to your room? Why is that a punishment? Because I couldn't think of anything else at the moment, that's why, and now it's my go-to phrase. Pretty much anything uttered in my angry-mommy voice would seem punitive, I'm sure. It's just funny how you will grasp at anything--shreds of memory, recycled phrases, tired cliches--when you are staring down the barrel of a three-year-old's steel will.

Even in an oppositional mood, Mazin is still a joy. I know it's all part of the developmental process. I can still laugh at myself and my grown-up priorities. So bossy, so shackled by time, so attached to my agenda.

Meanwhile, Layla has absolutely no interest in my agenda. Shower? Ha, that's funny, silly momma. I like you dirty--all the easier to sniff you out from across the room. She pretty much has to be worn all morning until she conks out for most of the day, at around 11 a.m. Then again around 5 p.m., it's fuss time until bed at 7:30. The nighttime hours are normally fairly peaceful and quiet, although last night we got a little taste of what some parents suffer daily. I suspect it was the brussels sprouts I ate for dinner that didn't sit so well with her. It happened once before, so I should have abstained, but it's just so hard to resist those little green buggers! For the moment, my world is reduced to things I can do while bouncing on an exercise ball with a baby strapped to my chest. I suppose I could write letters to my senator or start a revolution if I really wanted to. I've got a laptop, after all. But I'm content absorbing the little moments and recording the juicy details of this experience.