Thursday, January 6, 2011

Lord and Master Syndrome

This morning, I was deep in the land of slumber when I awoke to that weird feeling that someone was watching me. My eyes slowly opened to see my three year old standing thisclose to my face - his trusty blue blanket in one hand and that damn sippy cup in the other. Instead of immediately asking him what in the hell he was doing in my room, I looked at the clock.
Five friggin thirty.  Shoot me.
"Mom. Wubbzy's off."
"Ughhhhhh."  I can't swear to it that this is what actually came out of my mouth. I made a noise to indicate I'd heard him, but that I certainly wasn't going to get my ass out of bed for some yellow square thing with a tail. (That's Wubbzy, for all you people out there that don't have kids.)
"MOM."
"What?"
"Wubbzy's off."
"Okay. Go back to bed."
"No, mom. No.Turn it back on."
"Do you know what time it is? It's time to go to sleep. It's still dark outside."  Grayson just stood there and I could see that clearly my plan was not working. This kid was stubborn. He wasn't going anywhere until Wubbzy was back on.
"Fine," and I rolled out of bed and trudged through the house trying to avoid anything that I could find with my shins in the dark.
We make it to his bedroom with no casualties and I hit "Play" on the dvd player.
"I need some more chocolate milk," he said thrusting that plastic devil with a lid in my face.
NOOOOOOOOOOO! I silently sobbed to myself.
"What? No you don't. You need to go back to sleep."
"I need some more chocolate milk in my cup," he told me completely ignoring my previous statement.
 - Now, for those of you who don't know the finickiness that has been bestowed upon my oldest son, let me tell you what he means when he says "chocolate milk." It's not normal chocolate milk. Oh, no. That'd be too easy.  It is a production. First, you have to put milk in the cup, then you add the syrup. Did you hear that? Syrup - not powder. Well, that's it, right? Milk + chocolate syrup = chocolate milk. Not in this equation, buddy. No way. Now you have to heat it up. Oh yes, HEAT IT UP.  For 45 seconds - no more, no less. And I swear to you, if you do it less - even by like 5 seconds - the kid knows it. Do you know how long 45 seconds is when you're missing sleep? It's way more than 45 seconds. Finally, the last step in this tirade, is to put the lid on the cup and shake it up - do not screw up here and try to stir it - that simply will not do. And then you give it to him, watching in nervous anticipation for his approval.
Knowing that I would lose this battle too, and just wanting to get back into bed, I relented and made my little divo his favorite delicacy. 
Finally, after about 30 minutes, the milk was done and I was just walking out of his bedroom.
"Wait, Mom. Wait. Change my diaper."
"Are you kidding me?"
"I need a diaper."
"Son. Seriously. If you can tell me when you need to be changed, it's time to use the potty."
"Noooo. I needda diaper."
Understanding that 5:45 in the morning is probably not a good time to attempt potty training again, I assumed the diaper changing position: in the floor on my knees hovering over my toddler in the yellow glow of Wow Wow Wubbzy.  
Enter The Stench from the Black Lagoon.  I'm surprised the paint didn't start peeling off the walls. It was bad. And I've smelled some pretty nasty stuff working at the animal hospital - Parvo blow-outs, dead animals and flesh, tom cats spraying everywhere, etc. Grossed out yet? This smell trumped all of those. My kid could seriously be the next weapon of mass destruction - we can just start chucking his loaded diapers into North Korea. But I digress. 
So, here I am - hovering over my toddler who's happily drinking his chocolate milk and watching Wubbzy while I'm holding both this legs in the air only to discover he's crapped and I am not prepared.  Luckily, there was a box of wipes within reach.
FINALLY.
I am done. I can go back to bed for an hour or so of glorious sleep. I AM VICTORI---
"I need my blue blanket."
Pwned.
"What did you do with it? You just had it."
"I not know."
"Is it in your bed?"
"No. I need two blue blankets," Grayson told me matter-of-factly while holding up two fingers.
Two?! Hell, I can't even find the one that you WERE HOLDING IN YOUR HAND. 
"I need the blue one with polka dots."
"You don't need it. You want it. There's a difference.  And you don't even have a blue blanket with polka dots.Jackson has a white one with polka dots, but you don't have one. You have one with stars and you have one -"
"Oh. Here it is, Mom. Go to bed now."
It was like I was a house elf that had just been given an article of clothing and relieved of my duties. 
I was free. Free! FREE!
Well, at least for another thirty minutes before Your Highness found his way into our bed.
I'm pretty convinced Grayson suffers from Lord and Master Syndrome. I'm working on having it submitted to the DSM IV.

Sidenote: While typing this blog, I started wondering what I could write about next - and then Jack ate kitty litter. It's like the Screw-Up Fairy loves my blogs enough to give me stuff to write about.


2 comments:

Christopher said...

Better you than me...

Stacey said...

Pierre Monsoon. That's all I'm saying.