Ohhhh sweet Ryan. You are so cute, sweet, giggly, and content.
Unless it is between the hours of 6 am and 7:30 am.
Every morning you wake up with a crazy, wild cry that sends a message to me that if I don't run into your room and rescue you from that horrible crib, life as we know it will be over. However, there are moments in my morning that I just cannot do this. For example, at 6:00 am my alarm goes off which signals me to go get in the shower. Your daddy is most likely working or snoozing in the bed, so unless you plan to take a shower with me, I have no choice but to leave you screaming in your crib. Don't worry, I sure enough hear your cries through the shower water, as we share the same bordering wall. If I'm lucky, you have given up and quieted down by the time my short and unrelaxing shower is complete. This enables me to quickly slap on some makeup and dry my hair. But many times, you do not let up which requires me to go grab you and bring you into the place I call the "anything goes pit."
The "anything goes pit" involves you trying to grab the shampoo, etc out of the shower. Once you fail at this, you move to underneath the cabinets where you have managed to locate a small box of Q-tips. You gracefully pull the box out and proceed to dump all of the Q-tips out of the box, throw a few, and then pack them back in there. You look up at me and say "more?" as if I have Q-tips stocked in other places of my bathroom.
Next, as I'm drying my hair and dancing around you with the cords of my dryer and straightener, you open the other cabinet and strategically go for the hot rollers. As if it is a shape sorter, you begin pulling the curlers out and then putting them back --only, you get flustered when you don't turn them just the right way so that they fit back down. I've perfected the dance of straightening my hair while demonstrating how to place the roller back in the case. You are getting better at this skill.
By this point, I have managed to dry my hair and can move on to the kitchen. Don't worry, daddy sleeps through most of this part. The kitchen, however, is when you bring out your fighting fists. Did you know, Ryan, that you like to inflict pain on yourself when you get mad? Let me give you an example. If I give you breakfast first and then start packing Tyler's lunch, you assume that you are missing food that should be on your plate. This is wrong, dear Ryan, because last I checked you don't eat anything but cereal bars, chicken nuggets, and fruit. As you see me pack Tyler's lunch, you start screaming "more! more!" I respond, "no, Ryan you have food."
This is where the self-inflicting pain begins.
You like to throw your head back when you are mad. So, if you are seated inevitably you bang your head on the back of the chair. This mades you super mad. If you are standing or seated, you bang your head backwards on the ground. Don't worry, usually I get to you in enough time to brace your fall. I have no idea why you feel the need to do this, but I hate to admit that I choose to ignore it. It's for your own good so that you can learn that Mommy is the ruler of the house. I wear my tiara from my wedding Monday through Friday.
From that point forward, you are down-right mad. I open any door in the house, and you are mad. I suggest Tyler brush his teeth, and you are mad. I change your diaper because you love to poop right before we leave for school each morning, and you are mad.
I sure do love you and your madness.
This morning in the car (as you were crying), Tyler told me that your crying was annoying. Don't worry, I explained that he did the same when he was younger. I also alluded to many annoying things he currently does, but I phrased it in a nice, motherly way. You get so upset when Tyler is dropped off for school. So, you cry halfway from the elementary school to your daycare. And when I drop you off at daycare, you cry then too because you don't want me, your amazing mother, to leave you. I then get into the car and have 20 minutes of peace and quiet before arriving at work.
Despite your fussy mornings and the fact that you make it look like to daddy that I can't handle you and Tyler during that hour and a half stretch each morning, I love your moodiness. I sure enough know that this is a short-lived phase of toddler independence and tantrums. And while I prefer the remainder of the day when you are all smiles and giggles, I love you even more through the cries and tantrums.
Just please don't give yourself a concussion.
Love,
Mommy