Every Monday, Aidan stays home with me. Our day begins when we take Mommy to work and then Abigail to school. Then we come home and watch a little Sprout while Daddy reads the morning papers. Aidan usually uses this time to pull all of the toys out of the toy box and scatter them across the family room floor.
I know I'm supposed to love my children unconditionally. But when I hear "No" for the eighteenth time...
"Get down from the couch."
"Don't swing the bat in the house."
"Leave the cat alone."
You get the picture.
We ride in the car and he asks to have the window down. He gets angry and throws his cup. And then cries for his "cuppy." When he doesn't get his way he starts to scream.
I want to punch him in the face. Sometimes.
And then tonight after the twelfth tantrum of the day, he snuggles up to me on the couch. I start to think he's a sweetheart.
But then it's time for bed. He says he doesn't want his blankets on. And then he asks for his blankets. He says he wants the door open. And then he wants it closed. And then he wants it open part of the way. He wants the light on. He wants the light off.
So I leave the door open with the light on.
I hear him playing in his crib. His imagination bringing his stuffed monkey and lion to life. He talks and talks until finally... I hear nothing.
I look in the bedroom and he's asleep, lying sideways in the crib, his blankets pushed to one side. He looks so innocent and peaceful.