June 25, 2007
We had a really, really hard weekend with James--it was 100% impossible to make the child happy. He'd want up, so I'd put him in his high chair, and the very minute his bum made contact with the seat he'd want down. So I'd take him out and put him on the floor, and the second his feet touched the linoleum he'd want up. He was launching sippy cups across the kitchen, he bounced a peach right off Jared's cheek, and he repeatedly forced our poor greyhound to wear his potty seat like a necklace.
This went on and on and on, for about 48 hours. By Sunday night I was just waiting for James's skin to become a few shades darker and for his hair to turn all fluffy and florescent--because I was convinced, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my child was actually part troll.
We took James to see his very first movie on Friday night--we was less than impressed. I took James to the YMCA on Saturday afternoon--he layed on the floor and cried for 30 minutes straight. And yesterday, he made a continuous 4 hour scene in front of my out-of-town college friend. He's been terrible. I was most disappointed by his behavior at the Y, as it forced me to miss the undisputed highlight of my week--my beloved water aerobics class. Nothing makes me feel stronger and shapelier than pumping some styrofoam dumbbells under water, in the company of 30 senior citizens.
Finally, around 6 o'clock last night, it dawned on me that James might not be feeling well. Jared took his temperature, and sure enough it was 101.8. James was sick. He had been sick all weekend, and the poor kid had gone without so much as a drop of sympathy or Tylenol.
Based on this oversight, I have officially withdrawn my candidacy from the Mother of the Year Competition. Instead, I will focus my efforts on spoiling my feverish toddler with popsicles and cartoons. Best wishes to the remaining contestants.