You hear many, many people say “never let the baby run the house” and that’s just so much easier said than done, people. Especially when your toddler is like a peanut-sized trained pit bull ready to attack at any given moment- especially if you, say, look at him. Or offer him the wrong kind of cereal (which used to be his very favorite until this very second and HOW DARE YOU, MOTHER, YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!)
Or, if you touch the favored cereal box without his permission first… he may never forgive you.
Currently that would be Honey Bunches of Oats, which he calls “his Honeys” and I try not to laugh because that only sends him into a bloody tailspin of teeth and tears and blood (mostly mine).
Ah, anyway. This cuddly ball-of-fright of a child likes to sleep with me more often than not. Maybe he’s guarding me? I think that’s more it. Talking in his sleep last night he cried out, “Daddy, don’t touch my honeys! Never touch my honeys!”After I removed his toe from my mouth, I consoled him promising that no one is going to touch his honeys. They are his honeys. His beloved honeys, which, upon preparing breakfast this morning, I offered so kindly and delicately, and then his hair stood up from his head and his eyes turned red and the pitch of his voice rattled the windows next door.
He doesn’t like the honeys anymore.
Originally posted March 10, 2008 at Close To Home.