con artist

August 10, 2012

While we were gone last week the Jude stayed with my parents, which was gracious and lovely of them and I am very grateful. It was his first overnight(s) away from us anywhere ever, even with family, because I'm a bitch like that.

The benefit of waiting until he was nearly three is now Jude can talk, really really talk a lot and never shut up. I was not worried at all about him communicating his needs. I was much more worried about my poor parents, who are not used to living with someone nearly-three who just yells random words and runs in circles for hours at a time. That's not a knock on my parents it's just that spending days with a toddler is an acquired skill.

When we arrived at their house to get Jude settled the first thing he did upon exiting our car was stop, look me very seriously in the face, and say, "I want you to go on an airplane now." Then he flipped his hair and disappeared into the house.

The next day during the ride to the airport he made a single 110 decibel dinosaur noise every 10 seconds– for 35 minutes straight. The only thing that kept me from smothering my own face on the dashboard was thinking, "I'm going to go on an plane and fly away! Away! Away from that noise!" At the airport's curbside droppoff he gave me a kiss, said, "UhBye." and promptly turned around.

I would like to take a special moment here to gloat in a very unbecoming fashion and fan my butt in the direction of all those people who tried to convince me that cosleeping, extended breastfeeding, and all that other attachment parenting crap would turn our child into a clinging whiner with confidence issues. IN YO FACE, you are wrong wrong wrong pooheads. (I'm probably only allowed to say that once per lifetime, so please mark that off on your tally sheet.)

Some much needed Jude/Grandparents bonding took place and look! We've returned and everyone's still alive. Huzzah! When they picked us back up from the airport he was zonked out in his carseat, and he woke up half an hour later to his mother all up in his bizzness. We exchanged a "Hey kid." "Hey mom." and that was pretty much all the fuss there was about that.

Later that evening back at our house he kept flopping around on the floor like his legs were made of noodles and when I'd finally had enough noodle-game and eyerolling I called him on his shit.

"YO. Stop. What. Are. You. Doing?"

"I'm hurrrrrt. I'm tiiiiiired."

"Since when!? Since when does this happen!?"

"I'm hurrrrrt. ...I want a popsicle."

"I don't have any popsicles."

"But I'M. HURT."


(Wild generalized flopping.)


"I fall down. So Grandma will give me a popsicle."

Then I had to leave the room so I could stop laughing.

I'm sorry miss, but I think you've been had.
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