A case of the Mondays...

I cherish my Mondays with Mommy.  I really do.  But there is a reason why I am more exhausted on Monday night than any other day of the week, and his name is Banner.

(Seriously.  How do you stay at home mommies do it?  I am in awe!)

This morning, Banner woke up at 7 AM.  Which, all things considered, isn't that bad.  Mainly because it wasn't 6 or 5:30.  But Trevor had just left for work, and the wind was howling (it went from 76 yesterday to FREEZING in a matter of hours overnight).  I wanted nothing more than to drift back to sleep for another 15-30 minutes.

"Momma!  Up!  GET UP, MOMMA!"  UPPPPPPPPPP!"

Back in October, Banner started calling for mommy and daddy when he wanted us to come get him in the morning.  Then, in November, he had a polite streak and would ask, "Momma?  Daddy?  Wheer ah oooo?" over and over and over again.  Apparently, that wasn't effective enough (truth:  it was pretty easy to ignore), because now home boy has turned all mini drill sergeant on my a$$. 

"Momma!  Get up, Momma!"  NOW!  MOMMA, UP!  MOM-MEEEEEEE!"

He even stomps his foot in his crib as he says it, and wags his finger in the direction of my bed in the other room...LIKE HE CAN SEE ME TRYING TO IGNORE HIM.  I know this because half the time I'm in denial about the situation and find myself pleading with his image on the baby monitor (Please!  Pleeeeeeease go back to sleep!  Just five more minutes!) from underneath the covers.

But the best is when you walk into his room.  You open the door, and Banner immediately says, "HAH-LOW" (hello) in the cheeriest of voices.  He might as well be saying "I win", because that is what he really means.  But you can't be mad at him, because - most of the time - he is just so effing happy to see you.  

So now that we were officially up, the Ban Man and I went through our usual Monday morning routine:  I scrambled an egg and cut up an apple for his breakfast.  Gave him some milk.  As usual, he wanted to try what I was eating (pomegranate seeds mixed with blueberries).  I reminded him that he didn't like pomegranate seeds the last time he tried them, but he didn't believe me (he never does).  And, of course, just like last time, he spat them unceremoniously back into my bowl.  I ate them any way, because I am of the mind that it is a sin to waste a perfectly good pomegranate seed.  Plus, I'd probably starve if I refused to eat anything that hadn't already been in Banner's mouth.

(Note:  I draw the line when food lands on the floor.  Usually.)

(But only because the dogs are ON IT.)

Banner watched about fifteen minutes of Toy Story III, while I drank my coffee.  Then we played until 9:15, when I started the process of getting ready to leave for 10:15 swim class.  My goal is to be out of the door by 10 AM, but the process of leaving takes at least 45 minutes these days.  Mostly because Banner likes to dress and undress himself over and over again, and be needlessly opinionated about which clothes he will or will not wear.  I was getting nowhere fast until I asked if he wanted to go see Ms. Debbie, his swim instructor.  This really seemed to excite him, and he ran back to his room.  

I used the moment to rinse the left over milk out his sippy cup.  

(Mistake Number I)

By the time I made it back to Banner's room (less than thirty seconds later), he was completely naked, chanting, "Debbie, Debbie, Debbie" and attempting to flush his diaper down the potty.  And by "attempting" I mean the diaper was IN the bowl, and he was actively trying to get the toilet to flush.  Luckily, my appearance on the scene startled Banner and he only partially depressed the lever.  Otherwise this story would have been a lot worse, involved an overflowing toilet and we probably would have missed swim class.

Regardless of the nearly averted crisis, I found myself just staring at Banner for a moment, blinking.  I remember thinking, how did we get naked AND in here so quickly?  Seriously?  How?  He just had clothes on.  With buttons and zippers.  It should have taken closer to 2-3 minutes for him to achieve this level of nudity.  Mind: BLOWN.

I gathered Banner up, redressed and re-diapered him while explaining to him that diapers don't go in the potty.  Diapers go in the trash.  And like a good little parrot, Banner kept repeating back to me, "Diaper, trash.  No potty.  Diaper no potty.  Trash, trash, trash."

Then, I put him down, and went back to the kitchen to grab a plastic bag to fish the diaper out of the potty.

(Mistake Number II)

I returned ten seconds later to discover NO diaper in the toilet.  Only a watery trail on the hardwoods that lead me to my son in the other room, soggy diaper in hand, chanting, "Diaper!  Trash!"  To be fair, he was trying to put said diaper in the diaper bin, but still.  OMG.  AND WHY WAS THERE SO MUCH WATER EVERYWHERE?

Also, there should be a special word for "water" when it has come out of the toilet bowl.  Just saying.  Because I can deal with water.  Toilet water, however, makes me a little twitchy.

Needless to say, we were late for swim class.  And it wasn't even 10 AM, yet.