The World According to My Son

A week or two ago, I drew a picture of how I imagine my son views me while I’m cleaning his face.

The original.

The original.

He acts like he’s being suffocated with a chloroform rag. Anyway, I figured I’d do a whole series on how my son, age 19 months, acts when I try to take care of him.

Here I am buckling him into a carseat or stroller. He doesn’t cry often in this situation, especially with the stroller, but lately my husband (and sometimes me, but mostly my husband and I only do it because my husband started the bad habit) has been letting our son play in the driver’s seat of the car. When you’re a toddler, that is the coolest place to be. There are so many buttons, nobs and wheels. Anyway, whenever we get in the car, my son thinks it’s “driving time” so when it ends up being “sit in that crumb covered seat time,” he throws a bit of a fit.

Buckling him into a carseat, stroller or highchair.

Here’s me telling my son for the 700th time to get down from that dangerous place he climbed on top of. I’ve ruined so many adventures.

When he climbs on top of something dangerous (i.e. a swivel chair, bathroom sink, toilet, table, etc).

Time for bed. My son doesn’t cry too often around bedtime, but every two months or so, he goes through a demon phase. During his demon phases is when I start fantasizing about the old days (if you know what I mean). Despite his sleepiness and all the wonderful things we do for him, my son still acts like going to bed is the worst thing you could do to him. He’d rather stay in the living room and howl than curl up with all those soft blankets and have a story read to him.

Putting him down for bed.

Changing his diaper. So much pain and agony. We’ve gone through this several times a day since the day he was born and yet he can’t understand that it goes so much faster if he sits still and doesn’t violently kick my boobs. Having your boobs kicked is humiliating.

When I'm changing his diaper.

Time for a clean shirt.

When I try to put a shirt on him.

Just running the vacuum cleaner. There are days when I am looking at our crumb invested carpet and I think, “I’m just gonna do it. This can’t go on forever. He’ll get over it.” As I vacuum, he comes running into the living room, stares at the vacuum like it’s got spinning blades and fire shooting out of the sides, so I say, “It’s okay. It’s okay.” It’s never okay.

When I run the vacuum cleaner.

This image can be applied to bath time being over too soon or any sort of water play coming to an end.

When bath time is over too soon.