He looks innocent enough, right?
Before E came along, I was a little apprehensive about how W was going to adjust to all of the impending changes. A new sister. A slower mom. Less one-on-one time. Etc.
When W would visit us at the hospital, he would always run right in the room and yell, "Mommy!" It felt so good to have him there and his excitement was just a bonus. He'd look at his sister for a minute, then it was off to pushing buttons, playing with the phone, moving the bed up and down, that kind of thing. He would stay long enough to have a meltdown or two, then he would head home with MaMom or Dave. I suppose he was taking things as well as I could expect. Then I came home.
The first afternoon was OK. The following morning? Not so much.
W woke up on the wrong side of the bed. The sad side of the bed. He wasn't happy and no one -- except me -- could console him. But all he wanted from me was to pick him up and hold him...which I couldn't do. He cried and wailed, and so did I. It was horrible. All he wanted was his mom to hold him, and I couldn't give that to him. So he and I sat on the couch and cried together. Pathetic, huh?
I don't think he's forgiven me for that morning.
Since then, my once kind, patient (for a two year old), lovable boy has really let me have it. I'm talking tantrums that involve throwing himself on the ground and screaming like his arms are being amputated from his body. Oh my sweet boy, what happened?
And remember those milestones I used to celebrate? They're becoming more of stumbling stones for me, and a source of frustration, oftentimes anger, and disagreement between the boy and me. I can't say I celebrate these kinds of milestones:
- First call to Poison Control. W got into a bottle of stool softener (I've been on narcotics) and ate who knows how many. Besides a few extra diapers that day, all is well.
- Destruction. He got into his sister's room and ended up with half of the drape rod downstairs in my room.
- More destruction. He yanked down the blackout shade in his room.
- Fixation. The air vent in his room is his latest obsession. He removed it one day and fell down into it. Problem is it drops straight down and there are metal screws securing the duct work. W's leg now has proof of this fall.
- Indecency. Since I was banned from using the stairs, my friend (who just happened to be at my house when this happened) rescued W from the vent upstairs (#4). However, her rescue was that of a naked boy. Somewhere between ripping down the shade and pulling off the vent, W decided he didn't want to wear his diaper anymore.
- The perfect storm. Numbers three, four and five all happened at the same time.
- Emerging artist. W knows that crayon colors show up everywhere, including the computer screen, couch and window.
- Disappearing act. He threw his grandma SheShe's Sam's Club card down another air vent.
- A budding friendship. Lucy appreciates W's new hobby of getting the bowl of dog food from the laundry room and throwing piece by piece all over the house, which appropriately happens as I am feeding the baby (and can't get there to stop it). It's like a game. He throws. She runs. He laughs. She comes back for more. Of course, W then decides to take a whole bowl of food up the stairs, but accidentally dumps it out half-way to the top. Thankfully Lucy cleans up after him.
- Life is over. And finally, best of all, W learned how to turn handles and open doors. Every. Single. Door. He was kind of enough to learn this new skill the night before I returned from the hospital. Thoughtful, huh? The house is no longer secure. No item/room/area is safe. We've now resorted to those knob covers that are sometimes more adult-proof than child-proof.
I had long heard the adjustment from one to two children can be the most difficult. I was going into this change with my eyes wide open knowing we were going to go through a major transition. Now, almost three weeks later, I am thankful I wasn't naive in thinking this would be a breeze. It's hard. I will admit that without any shame. Sometimes it's like he's scheming against me and my post-pregnancy brain can't get ahead of him. Yet thankfully, a few mornings have greeted me with a well-rested and -fed newborn, a happy toddler who just might still like me a little bit, and the possibility of an afternoon nap -- W's greatest redeeming quality at the moment.
Perhaps these milestones should be more than stumbling blocks for me. Stepping stones? It's a stretch, but I need a silver lining. As any two year old should, he's exploring, learning, testing limits (a lot) and stepping into boyhood. I feel pretty confident that we may lose more items down air vents. And several other pieces may meet a crayon or two. I guess I should get over the stumbling blocks and help him along the way.
For your viewing pleasure, W's morning activity.
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