I'm not sure when it happened. It feels like overnight, but I'm sure it was more gradual.
Baby Bee has a well-developed sense of his own free will, but he has yet to understand my desperate attempts to rationalize with him. When will he understand: "not now, maybe later..." or "how about this, instead of that...?" or "no, and here's why..." Soon I hope.
Case in point. This week we were rushing around on a weekday morning trying to get ready to get out the door. Now, granted, I have it easier than a lot of working moms. I often don't leave the house until 9 or 10.
Bee was having the ultra-nutritious breakfast of Pop Tarts and milk while he watched Finding Nemo (his current obsession...).
Me: "Babe, I'm going to go upstairs and get dressed. Do you want to stay down here or go with me?"
Bee: Looks at the TV, looks at me, looks at the Pop Tart and decides, sure, he'll go with me. He puts the Pop Tart onto the paper towel and tried to fold the towel up.
I help him fold the paper towel and then I leave the Pop Tart on the table, knowing full well that we'll be back downstairs in about 5 minutes. We both go upstairs. As soon as we get to the bedroom, he turns to me and realizes that I don't have the lovingly folded paper towel full of delicious Pop Tart in my hand and that, my friend, is that.
Bee lets out an glass-shattering scream at the very very top of his lungs until he turns red. I think he might've even thrown himself on the ground.
Silly me. I lack the ability to read a 2-year-old's mind.
This goes on at least 3 or 4 times a day. Sometimes for reasons that are clear. Sometimes not.
I'm just hoping my ears and my nerves survive this phase.
(photo not of screaming, but reminder of happier time...)
Bee crawled up the stairs this evening in search of his father. When he got to the top, he realized the baby gate was up and he couldn't get down the hall.
