Zzzzzzz…zzzzz…zzz..z.. *SMACK* “Ow! Eryn, not in the face.”
“Read me the book mom. Read me the book. No, not that one. That one. No. That one. Yes. Read me that book now.”
“Once upon a time there was a little boy who wore red pants and red shoes. He went hiking in the Alps every day. See the mountains? Here are his friends skiing and sledding. One day he got caught in a Zamboni…”
“Ma, you’re reading it wrong. You forgot to thump your hand on your leg. Here, let me. Thump, thump, thump.” Ridiculous grin.
“Yes baby, the rescue beaver is coming to thump his tail. Be patient.”
“Eryn, eat your oatmeal.”
“momgivemethatandthatandthatandthat. I want this. This. This. This.”
“The banana? No. The water? No. Milk? No. The book? No. Stop signing milk, you already said no milk. What do you want — use your words. The rubber band? You want the rubber band? Yes? Nod please. Fine. Take it. Eat. Bismillah.”
“Will you try some cheerios? [singing] Cha-Cha-Cha-Cheerios. Some girls like them, some girls love them, I think they’re okay. But when you eat your breakfast, you really make my day-ay. Cause baby we are living in a Cha-Cheerio world and you are a Cha-Cheerio girl.”
Dances, wiggles and final eats.
“Eryn come here. Come here. No don’t eat the Vaseline. Come here. Diaper change! [she signs diaper change] Yes! Now come here. Don’t pee on the bed. Wait! Hold still. No Vaseline I said, come here…”
After singing Crisscross Applesauce, Uncle John goes to town, Bumpy Road, Hoppe Hoppe Reiter, and Frappé Frappé Petite Mains, she says, “La la la la.”
“No, no Elmo. We’ll watch Elmo later.”
“MA!! I said La la la la!!!” descends into tears and whining like the world is ending.
“Later. Don’t think you’ll move me with your whining.” I pause and look at her seriously, “You just said la, la, la, la! That’s amazing! First you figured out the YouTube app and now you’re singing. Here, have Elmo.”
Instant quiet — except for Elmo.
Eryn’s excuse to trash another room that doesn’t belong to her. When I’m not picking up books, I’m saving strange children from her love pats, intervening when she grabs toys, smiling through clenched teeth when I hear, “Oh, she’s 14 months? She’s so tiny! And not walking yet, oh I see.” and picking up my own broken heart as she calmly sits next to another mother who’s reading to her five year old.
Normally it’s just like Breakfast Time, but tonight:
“Oh hi Hubby, so glad you’re home. Please. Please for the love of God take the baby so I can pee.”
“Tonight is the general election for the condo board.”
Mad rush to clean Eryn, change her and make us both look presentable enough to attend the meeting and support Baba in his bid to become Director.
“ZOMG! I’m in a new place and I got to skip dinner! I’m going to entertain everyone with my funky dancing.” Funky baby dancing commences. Along with waves of hello and goodbye.
“No ma, I’m not eating the cheese sandwich you made for me. I’ll have that veggie sub over there. That one. No. I want water. Water. I want water. No. Not from my sippy. From that lady’s bottle. I want down. I want to walk. Help me. No. I want to crawl to Baba. I want to eat fuzz off the floor. I’m going to gag if you put that sandwich in my face one more time. Hello stranger! I’m going to dance for you now. Yes, I’m cute and I know it.”
Baba wins, we all go home and I put Eryn to bed. She’s so strung out that I have to nurse her while singing and bouncing her on the exercise ball. 30 minutes later I come out of the bedroom, make a peanut butter sandwich for dinner and finally get my hands on the computer to do some blogging.
And I have absolutely no energy left to write anything coherent.