The Baby Fever Antidote

When we left off last June, Adler had just turned one and life was good.  Unfortunately that's also the phase when "baby fever" creeps in.  As a mother, you're sleeping through the night again, your little one has learned to crawl or walk and is gaining some independence, and as you start to feel your humanity returning, you immediately begin to long for a newborn, because mothers are nothing if not gluttons for punishment.

But if you're lucky, you can resist the pull of that infant smell and newborn snuggles, because when your child reaches 18 months, you'd enthusiastically trade in that same child for 15 minutes of silence or your missing tv remote.

Can you guess where we are now?

Adler is about 20 months old, beautiful, smart as a whip, and more difficult than the Statistics course I bombed in college.  It's not just that he is so stubborn, but that he is stubborn about the strangest things. 

No, hand sanitizer would not make a good sauce for your chicken.

Sorry, tonight's bath will not take place in the fireplace.  Too ashy.

You're right, the tweezers are shiny, but I'm not willing to pluck your arm hairs.

Since his life is fraught with constant frustration thanks to his overbearing mother, Adler's only course of action is to rebel in response.  And when his persistence is coupled with his quick mischief, I spend all of my-- 

--Hey, Adler, you get down from there!!

For the last couple of days, my son has taken every opportunity, every second out of my sight, to solidify his position as the baby of the family.  If he can misbehave my "baby fever" away, he can hoard all of the snuggles and attention.  Therefore Adler is currently on a troublemaking bender, getting into all things off limits.

I wouldn't let him eat from the bacon grease cup, so he threw a fit on the dining room table.

I thought it best for him not to wind his baby monitor cord around his neck, so he broke into my bathroom and drew on his face in eyeliner.

And finally, when I dared to suggest he change out of a stinky and wet diaper, he silently ran off, prompting a hard-target search of every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse and doghouse bedroom, bathroom and closet in the house, only to find him rounding third base with the dog.



So at the end of each night, when my boys are finally asleep and the house is quiet, I collapse onto my bed and look forward to a few moments of silence, and some time to myself to take a bath or watch a show.

And then I remember that the remote is still missing.