One More!

It used to be a simple book or two. Now my tiny Tadpole has entered the "more! more!" phase of reading before bedtime, always wanting to read yet another book. It has, for the first time in his young life, become an issue getting him into bed because of this insatiable appetite. (If only his appetite for food was this big.)

And I find it terribly difficult to tell my thirsty-for-knowledge little sponge that we’re done reading for the night.

So imagine my amusement when last night I told my begging boy “Ok, ok, just ONE more” – and he stared at me for a lengthy moment, wheels turning, before searching his extensive toddler library for just the right final book – his thick, detailed animal encyclopedia.

Coincidence?

Meltdowns

Tadpole’s crib is against the wall, so it’s technically impossible for him to ‘wake up on the wrong side of bed’. If it were possible, today would have been the day.

Normally docile and sweet upon awakening, my now 18-month-old munchkin fussed from the moment I lifted him out of bed this morning, right on through until he was dressed and we were on our way to the zoo. Not sure what the trigger was, but hey, some mornings I wake up a bit grumpy, too. (Hard to believe, I’m sure.)

Luckily the zoo was a brilliant and delightful distraction, and we had a blast checking out the now familiar animals. Tadpole chattered away to his brother Tigger, who, unbeknownst to Tadpole, was completely snoozing through his first trip to the London Zoo. But Tadpole sputtered on, uttering who knows what – though he “talks” incessantly, there is of course still a lot of guesswork wondering what he is actually saying.

Unfortunately, we weren’t home 4 seconds after our excursion to see camels and penguins and butterflies, oh my, when Tadpole turned into tantrum mode again. ‘Hang in there, Momma’ I thought to myself, knowing that if I could pleasantly coast through lunch, he’d then be down for a three-hour snooze – enough time for me to recharge my mommy batteries for any further meltdowns I would have to encounter today.

As I lifted my spaghetti-faced toddler out of his chair, he reached to hug me. ‘Oh No!’ I thought, instinctively worried about his sticky fingers all over my cashmere sweater. But it was too late, and the little hugger had landed, facing me, on my lap. Serves me right for wearing cashmere with two babies.

I had cuddled him for only a moment when he pulled back about six inches from my face, started to play with my hair, looked innocently up at me with his baby blues, and said…

“Boot-a-ful!”

Which, of course, meant beautiful.

Which, of course, caused me to have my very own little meltdown.