Living With a “Tiny Terrorist”

First of all, I can’t take credit for coining the term, “Tiny Terrorist.” I’ve liberated it from another blogger I adore, Burgh Baby.

Today has been a day to test my patience, and I think it goes back to yesterday. Last night, really. See, Butter’s Grandma invited us to a picnic her marketing group was holding. We had a great time (and crabs!), and then Grandma and I took Butter to Khol’s to find an outfit or two for his 2 year pictures today.

First of all, getting my son to leave a party with a bounce house is next to impossible without a lot of tears and general unhappiness. Add to that, that he had an unsightly fall during a diaper change (I was actually scared he may have fractured his wrist, that’s how hard he fell, but he really hurt his knee as was evident by the way he limped when we got to Khol’s) and he was just a mess when we left.

He was fine once we got to Khol’s, but flipped out again when we dropped Grandma off at the end of the night (at this point, it was roughly an hour and a half past bed time). He ended up staying with his grandparents last night because he wanted to, and because it got him into bed a full half an hour earlier than he would have if I’d brought him all the way home.

Fast forward to this morning when Husband and I picked him up for his 2 year pictures. He was still limping and he’d gotten his leg stuck in between the slats of his crib at some point during the night. He has a really ugly bruise on what was his previously unhurt knee as a result.

He did so well at pictures, just hammed it up for the photographer. He picked at his lunch. He limped around the mall. He fell asleep in the car on the way home. We stopped at Grandma and Grandpa’s house on the way back and he was up for the day. We tried to lay down with him when we got back home, but he was having none of that.

This afternoon, I’ve heard “Manny? Manny? MANNY!!” more than I care to admit. He’s now free to roam the first floor, so when he hasn’t been occupied with the dustpan and miniature broom he’s currently playing with (no, really), he’s been off getting into the recycling bin, the water dispenser on the fridge, and just about everything else he can think of.

He won’t listen, he’s begging for snacks, and he seems to be even more prone to accidents today. My patience is thin, but what else do I do? We’ve done time out, we’ve told him no, done the distraction thing.

I just want to nap.

3 Replies to “Living With a “Tiny Terrorist””

  1. And the beat goes on…..haha. Trinity I love you all bunches. Wish I could be there to help you!!!
    Trust me, in 10 years you will look back on all thia and have a “remember when” big laugh.

    1. Tell me about it. Grandparents here for the weekend? He’s an ANGEL when they’re here. As soon as they leave, it’s all “NO!” and OMGLOUDSCREECHIFYOUPACKTHATTOYAWAY!

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