One week post-time change and my, how things are different. I mean, it only took a week! What on earth was I complaining about, eh?
About half of the week was just total shit. SHIT. And endless fighting. And crying. And hitting. Basically exactly what I said in my previous post.
And then suddenly, things magically got better. How bizarre.
It was like someone flipped a switch in his little body. He went from “No like it Mummy! Noooooooo!!!” to “Oh Mummy, Vincent like dis!”
He is eating everything with total enjoyment. He is falling asleep promptly and with minimal fuss. He is asking for seconds of dinner. Every morning he wakes up there is also no crying. Just happiness. And he throws himself at me crying “Good morning Mummy!!!!”.
Edward and I pretty much stared at each other in shock every morning. Every meal. Every bed-time. I mean, it really was shocking in comparison to the beginning of the week.
“Mummy? More banana please” (And then he ate a whole one)
“Mummy? More veggies”. (And then I fainted with joy)
“Mummy? Please? More apple.” (And then I died and went to heaven)
So that crappy hurdle is over and we move on to the fun stuff. Spitting. I believe this originated during morning and evening tooth-brushing sessions. And then developed with ‘Eagles pffft! Cowboys pffft! Go Giants!’ sessions with Daddy. And then further explored by spitting on oneself and our living room floor.
And the final straw? Standing with Daddy in the back alley over the drainage grate, watching Daddy spit.
“I was just trying to develop his depth perception”, Edward complained when I confronted him about his poor poor POOR decision. I burst out laughing. That seriously was the worst excuse I have ever heard.
Husbands. Especially those of a Scorpio nature. From an Italian background. Who must argue with their wives at any given opportunity. And who spit. For depth perception reasons.