Monday, October 4, 2010

Our first fight

(This was September 13.  It wasn't really a fight.  He's just a baby, after all.)

Dear Bob,
A little while ago I yelled at you for the first time.  You will not lay still for a diaper change.  Sometimes (rarely) it's fun: I tickle and roll you and exclaim "get back over here!" while we both laugh.  Sometimes, like today, it is not fun because you smear your poo everywhere.  Today you happened to be wearing one of my very favorite outfits which happens to be lime green and white striped and not so resistant to poo stains.  And so when you squirmed and squished your mushy poo all up your back, I yelled.  Well, maybe yell isn't even the right word.  I raised my voice.  "That's it.  Sit still, you little poo smearer!"  You started crying.  "Cry.  I don't even care, because I'm mad at you!  Why can't you just be still for 60 seconds so that I can use just two wipes instead of 45 and I don't have to finagle a poopy one piece outfit over your head?  You are ruining your cutest garment."  You cried harder, and you started moaning "na-na-na-na" which I am beginning to understand to mean "nurse-nurse" or "night-night" aka "I really want to go to sleep now."  You skipped your morning nap today.  And my angry voice put you over the top.  So then I started feeling bad.  I hugged you and kissed you and said nice sweet things.  You kept crying and whining "na-na" until my boob was in your mouth for your pre-nap nursing.  Don't worry, buddy, I wasn't really mad at you.  I was just frustrated.  I won't raise my voice again.  It doesn't help.
With so much love,

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