Try futilely for hours to get child to nap. Fail miserably. Hand cranky and defiant child off to dad to watch afternoon football while I escape the house for awhile. It’s therapeutic.
Child wraps arms around me while snuggling at bedtime and whispers in my ear, “Oh my goodness, I love you, mommy.”
Vow to buy child a pony and a lifetime supply of ice cream the next day.
Child throws such a tantrum in the grocery store that I swear off buying child anything ever again. And shopping, altogether. Forget that pony and ice cream.
In the middle of a shopping plaza, child says, “Look mom, I’m touching my butt!” Turn around to find her with her hand down the back of her pants. Between fits of laughter, try to explain why we don’t do that in public. Continue to giggle about it all afternoon.
Heart breaks for child made miserable by two year molars. Wildly fluctuate between frustration that child isn’t listening, sympathy for the pain she’s in and understanding that’s completely out of her control. Spend extra hours snuggling and comforting at bedtime without a complaint.
Ask of child the impossible: to behave in a restaurant for two whole hours…but she does, beautifully. Filled with so much pride and joy over her sweetness and charm and ability to listen that my heart can hardly contain it.
Pony and ice cream go back on the short list.