January - October 2007
September 15, 2004 - 9:45 a.m.
World War Three
This morning Peyton decided he most emphatically did not want to wear the Pooh shirt I had picked out for him, instead, he wanted to wear his red shirt. Which red shirt? I’m not really sure, but it was most definitely a red shirt he wanted to wear. So I explained to him in my “I’m still being a nice mommy voice” that if he wanted to wear the red shirt that we would go to his room, pick put a shirt and he could wear it.
Alas, he didn’t want to walk to his room because, you know, God thinks two year olds should still be carried to their room by their six month pregnant mommies. I then explained to him in my “I’m still trying to be a nice mommy, but I’m on the verge of losing my cool” voice that if he wanted to be a big boy and pick out his own shirt then he could be a big boy and walk to his room.
You would have thought I asked him to tear off his legs and eat them rather than just simply walk down the hall to his freakin room and pick out a shirt.
By this time he’s screaming and carrying on about how he doesn’t want to wear the Pooh shirt and I’m really starting to lose it. Finally, I screeched “Then walk to your room and pick out a shirt!” He just sat in the middle of the room howling and I walked over to him and put the damn Pooh shirt on anyway. He clawed and pulled at the shirt, but STILL wouldn’t get up to go to his room.
I just walked out of the room before I had to call DHR on myself.
I walked into the kitchen to feed the dogs and Peyton ran into the toy room. Not wanting to give him a chance to calm down, I thought, “Hey, now’s as good as time as any to give him his antibiotic that he absolutely despises.”
I grabbed the pink goo out of the fridge and walked towards Peyton who’s now covering his mouth and shaking his head violently from side to side.
“Look, son, either you can take it like a big boy or I’ll have Daddy come hold you down.”
Apparently Peyton was not into being a big boy this morning, because several minutes later I’m yelling for Larry to come hog tie the kid.
Tell me why I’m having another one again.