I was almost positive that either Connor or I wasn’t going to survive to the end of the day today. It was a day with a too-short nap (or in my case, no nap at all), lots of whining, too much bossiness (we’re talking about Connor here), loads of attitude (Connor again), and numerous “Do you understand me?” talks. It was a rough and rocky ride from the moment he woke up wailing from his nap to about an hour before bedtime. Thankfully, after a little time doing our own things, we came together an hour before bedtime and salvaged the night. Lining up and trading cars back and forth, building and knocking down block stacks, and having block races around the couch put us both in a better mood for bedtime. Connor even squeezed this gem of a smile out before stories:
My most stern tone and voice are not enough to get ‘Rad’s attention. It is frustrating and exhausting when, in spite of my best “I’m the boss here!” acting, all Z has to go is look at Connor and raise his voice to get the kid to stop dead in his tracks. Maybe it’s because Connor knows it’s an act. That behind my towering 5’3″ frame and bulging belly, I still believe that I have no idea what I’m doing, and when I command his attention I do it with as much uncertainty and purpose as I had playing tennis in grade school (I am and always have been woefully unathletic, particularly in any sport involving a ball). When he turned 6-months old, I remember feeling the rookie mantle of motherhood slipping off. But in recent days it has been bestowing itself onto my shoulders once again, and with every curveball that Connor throws (see, it’s those damn balls again!) it gets heavier. Then again, out of all of us in the house I rank #2 – at the lowest – at being the boss (above Connor and Blue Boy and occasionally below Z). That endows me with at least a sliver of boss legitimacy. Plus, I’m one of the only two people in our house who can even spell the word “boss, ” so yeah, godamnit, I AM the boss!