This morning Billy didn't want to get ready for school.
Me: Don't you want to go to school? You have lots of friends at school. Who's your best friend? Is O... your best friend?
Me: Is V... your best friend?
Me: Who's your best friend?
When I came to pick him up from daycare he was in the gym playing with the older kids. I always look through the window in the gym to see if he's there before I head to his classroom, since the gym is closer to the door. He saw me in the window looking in. By the time I disappeared out of his view and came up to the doors he had run across the gym crying.
We got home it was Mommy or bust. I was trying to cook dinner and he pushed against my legs, kicking and screaming and trying to bite. All he wanted was up. Of course, it's impossible to dice or chop or open cans with a baby in your arms trying to steal your cooking tool du jour. It was like that all afternoon. Bubbly in the arms and a fussing mess when put down. I am trying to teach him that this behavior will not be rewarded with coddling.
It wasn't all tears today. He played with Buddy (and beamed him hard across the head, poor old dog). And he danced like mad to the Bell Box. The Bell Box is a present Grandpop gave me a few years back, I think with the intentions of entertaining my future offspring. It plays a selection of Christmas tunes and old time classics with the sound of an old circus organ. It has brass bells that ring in time to the music, much like a bell choir. Billy has already figured out how to change the songs and keeps coming back to "Skater's Waltz". He is much more entranced by the old timey music than by the Christmas songs, but I think it has something to do with the rythyms and more intricate harmonies.
I will leave you with a story from this weekend that I forgot to share out of exhaustion and teething:
I was getting ready to take Billy into the shower with me to help clear his clogged nose. I undressed him first down to his birthday suit. He put both hands up against the shower door and leaned against it, facing it (think...spread em!). All of a sudden, a little stream of pee came pouring down, hitting the lip of the shower and pooling on the floor. I could see it in slow motion, "oh, My, GOD". It was plain across his face, wide-eyed, horror-struck. "I'm leaking!" I could see him thinking. He looked at me in panic. Then, almost as soon as it started, it stopped. In a flash he ran behind me, peeking out from behind my legs at the little puddle and holding on to me with a death grip. He looked up at me. "Am I going to be ok?" he was thinking. I wiped it up in a snap and then picked him up and gave him a big hug. "Next time in the toilet, honey."