I'm Being Haunted

No, that's not a metaphor for anything.  I am being haunted by what I'm certain is a 1.5 year old boy...although I can't mention this to a certain co-worker (Kevin), because they (Kevin) are absolutely terrified of ghosts...even if they're only 1.5.

Do I hear random giggling in the night?  No.  Are toys floating across the room in front of me?  Nope.  Brayden's Winnie the Pooh potty has been "flushing" itself for the last 5 minutes with absolutely no help from me.  Or my cat who is obsessed with flushing toilets.


Does this happen during daylight hours?  Nope.  Only in the wee hours (pun intended) of the night.  Now, one COULD argue that because it's turned on and the batteries are in it that it's not being repeatedly "flushed" by a paranormal toddling friend, it's just shorting out.  But I prefer to believe there's a little boy in there trying incessantly to flush his great-grandmother's gaudy and very expensive ring, down the drain.


Hmmm, maybe that's why Brayden prefers using the "big" potty all of the time.  The little one is occupied.

Who Screams Louder?

I don't know what it is about the age of 2, but it's like someone flips a switch and suddenly your baby is gone.  What you're left with is a screaming, demanding, "ugly cry"-ing child, the likes of whom you've never met before.

A turned down request for "Mowe miwk pdease Mommy" results in a sudden paralysis of his legs, causing a powerful collapse to the floor.  Also of note are the muscle spasms occurring in his face, loss of coherent speech and the incessant leaking of fluids from his eyes. 

Let's not even broach the subject of refusing to watch Home Alone 2 for the gazillionth time that day.  Yes, gazillionth...look it up.  Or the insanity that occurs when the tower he's just built using VHS and DVDs that stands taller than his 4 year old sister comes crashing to the ground.  (Side note, we clearly have far too many movies but I'm not willing to get rid of a single one of them.)

I love the 2's.  And we're only a week in.

There's Something Between Us

I'm in bed.  It's late.  I roll over, brush the hair out of his face and say "You're hot".  No, I'm not talking about my husband...though he is quite a looker.  I'm talking about the little man wedged in bed between us.  My son is sick.  He's been cranky for days and is burning up.  What we thought was teething for the 2 year molars (which is in fact part of it), turned out to be one of the numerous flus running rampant in the area.  Oh joy of joys.

Double joy of joys because his 4 year old sister caught it first.  By a measly 12 hours, but still, first.  

We've spent the last 3 nights tag teaming, loading the kids up with Children's Advil, applying cold cloths to their foreheads and sleeping either in their beds, having one of them in ours while the other is on the couch downstairs or just plain not sleeping.

When your kids are sick, no matter who you are, you feel helpless.  My husband is a Paramedic, but I don't care if you are the head neurosurgeon at the nation's top hospital, when your child is burning up, scared and in pain, you fall apart just a little.

You want to fix this.  But really you can't.  All you can do is ride it out and keep them as comfortable as possible until the light in their eyes shines brightly as it once did.

And you know what?  It's the flu.  They'll get over it, get it a million times more and get over it again.  My kids are ok...miserable for 5-7 days, but ok.  I'm thankful every day that I have my kids at home with me, healthy and happy.

Even with the 3am whimpers to "go downtairs pees Mommy".  Even after watching Home Alone 2 for the zillionth time, or Hannah Montana season one from start to finish.

So yes, even when it's now 4am and I'm up for the 6th time cleaning up some form of bodily fluid that I never wish I'd seen, I'll always be happy that there's something between us.