Meet Mr. Pleasant

My firstborn child has a special side reserved just for me...and sometimes daddy. It's not exactly a side that I appreciate. Let's see...you know how when a cat kills a rat or something equally disease-ridden and leaves it as a present for you and you are supposed to take it as a compliment and not throw up? That's similar to what my little angel child does for me. Apparently when your toddler throws a Mcnasty fit so big that you are sure the neighbors are thinking about calling DSS,  it means that your child sees you as an authority figure that they need to establish their independence from. Not sure how much I buy that. But it's supposed to be true. The Earth was also flat at one time.

So now, in my full-blown, third-trimester of a ridiculously demanding pregnancy, my precious little baby boy won't eat the food on his plate, let me change his diaper without an intense wrestling match, let me take his shoes off OR put them on....it just keeps going so I'll stop for fear of ensuing boredom. Forgive me, medical world, but I am not taking this as a compliment.

The adorable thing about all of this is that I see it every day while his daddy sees it maybe a few times a week and anyone else would have been lucky to see it...or unlucky? I don't know. The logic part of my brain has been shut down for the next few months because I am growing a child. This is supposed to make sense but I don't know how because of what I've just told you. And round and round that goes.

Anyway...I am just not diggin' the fact that my child, the one with the humongous head whom I pushed out of my body with no anesthesia, saves up all of that toddler energy just for mommy. And now I have to go (as I type this with one hand) because my sweet child is screaming "NO" and pulling my arm. My house is like an oasis of peace.