the seventh

I am aware that my actions (as a human being/mom) have an affect on my overly spirited, challenging two-year old. That every breath I take and each word I utter are being stored in her little mind, only to come back to haunt me in the near future. I have accepted this and do everything in my power to think before I act and have some kind of filter before I talk. I have tried to convince my husband of this fact as well. He is still in a bit of denial.

It had been one of those days. You know the type - on the verge of tears, ready to scream until the whole world goes silent. Completely questioning how I got to this place...oh, ya. Sex. Why don't they teach you this in high school sex ed? Anyhow, he had offered to help me put the kids to bed. Smart, smart man. While he was trying to corral her and get her in pj's I tackled the boys. She is like herding cats and they are like dressing a slicked piglet. He told her to take her pull-up off. She, in her spirited fashion, wiggled out of the pull-up and flung it towards him. He picked it up and playfully whacked the diaper across her face. She laughed in complete glee. I glared. I glared into the depth of his soul.
"Really?" I asked. "That is not a good thing to show her."
He giggled (like a child) "It's okay. It's just silly."
No wonder I call him my first born child....


The next morning, while rallying the troops, she took off her pj's and her diaper. I figured something was up because she was much to willing to comply with my wishes. She slipped out of her diaper, and while I was on the floor gaw-gawing at them, a soft "thwack" hit my face. Without even looking up, I knew. A soft, wet, full overnight diaper had just run across my cheek. I lifted my eyes only to find her looking so very pleased. In my nicest morning disciplinary voice, I told her "That's not nice. We don't hit people with diapers." In the back of my mind I am thinking why, why do I even have to be saying this? And while my mind was formulating an answer (not quite enough coffee), she chimed in with a cheery, "It's okay mommy, it's just silly."
He's dead meat.