My 3 year old son is slightly less than stoic. He has my coping skills and low level of frustration tolerance and flair for dramatics. If someone dares to deny him something, his response is to wail "oh, no!", cover his face with his hands and cry. If he gets frustrated, he stomps his feet and growls. Have I mentioned that he is the laziest 3 year old on the planet? At nap time, he collapses on the stairs and needs to be carried up. Do I indulge him? You bet. To get him to take his 3 hour nap, I'll carry him, sing and dance for him. If it isn't child abuse, I'll do it.
Yesterday, when he awoke from his slumber, I promptly trotted upstairs to retrieve him. Because if you make the little prince wait, he will chastise you and make you feel guilty for slacking off. "Mommy, I called and called and then I cried because you didn't come get me". I told him our friend, Maggie was here. This is the conversation that followed:
"Maggie here? Really?"
"Yes, she is downstairs waiting."
"Is she eating my num nums?"
"No, she isn't."
"I play with her?"
"Yes, stand up so we can get you dressed."
"I can't. I don't have my toes."
"Where are your toes?"
"I don't know."
"Did someone take your toes?"
"Yes, a big mean guy stole my toes."
"Well, if you don't have any toes, you can't go downstairs to play."
"Hmm..... You can carry me."
At this point I knew I had to take charge of the situation.
"Christian, look! I found your toes. You can walk."
"Hmmmm...... ok, I guess."
See? I showed him who is in charge. For the record, I didn't carry him upstairs at bedtime. Nope.
I made Paul do it. See? I AM in charge.
No comments:
Post a Comment