Mornings with Dov

 Two year olds are insane. 

I know this isn't exactly late- breaking news. 

My 2yo son started camp yesterday.   It's great to get him out of the house. But, he comes home from camp at 2:45, not having napped.  I am not putting a two year old down for a nap at 2:45.  I don't want to be dealing with said two year old at 10pm.  Been there, done that. My first was anti-sleep. I didn't sleep for the better part of a year and blame a lot of blog posts here on sleep deprivation. 

Anyway, 2 YO, let's call him Dov, has a fun feature.  The more tired Dov gets, the more hyperactive he gets. And the LESS coordinated he gets.  As a former toddler teacher I know that this is not exactly a unique feature.  Other two year olds have been doing this since time immemorial.  Just not my first two year old. And so, therefore, not the model that all other two year olds must be compared to. 

Anyway, those of us keeping track, my first is three.  So there's not a lot of rational thinking going on in my house at anytime.  Well, there is, but it's three year old logic and that's a whole different post. 

Suffice to say that I have a HYPER, OVERTIRED 2 year old running around from 3pm until 6:30.  I put him to bed at 6:30 which is a good hour earlier than he normally goes to sleep.  I could have put him to bed even earlier but this kid is an early riser to begin with.  I didn't want him up at 5 am.  

Readers, he got up at 5am anyway. 

Commence: A Typical Day in the life of Dov

Dov wakes up at five.  I've been going to bed later and later, thank you third trimester insomnia*, so I play the waiting game with my husband.  Dov does not go back to sleep.  

At some point my husband decides he can't outlast me and goes and gets Dov, depositing him in the bed.  "Huggy! blanky!" Dov says, and gives me lots of kisses. Yeah, there's a reason I put up with this kid he's unbearably cute.  

I have to kiss his chubby cheeks about eight million times.  By this point, Dov has lost patience.  

"I wash ANDS!" he announces.  Dov cannot say his H's. You guessed it, the negel vasser spills all over my bedside table.  This is a daily occurrence.  We go downstairs.  Dov faced a new conflict when he turned two. He wants me to carry him down the stairs.  BUT, he also wants to walk down the stairs by himself. And he can't pick one.  Every morning we get to the stairs and he has a tantrum because he wants me to carry him but he also wants to "DO IT SELF!" 

Everything Dov says is capital letters. I don't make the rules.  That's just the way it is.  We get downstairs. I ask Dov if he wants to go potty. 

Sometimes he makes on the potty and comes after me to tell me "I did it!" sometimes  he says "Didn't want potty." 

Today he "didn't want do potty".  So we tried to put a diaper on. This is hilarious. The highlight of Dov's morning, maybe, kicking his legs and making it generally impossible for mommy to get a diaper on him. I'm not in a big rush to potty train.  His sister was potty trained before two, but she's a VERY. UNUSUAL. CHILD. Honestly, I debate whether to even call her a child.  She was born a little adult.  

After that we're on to our next task of the morning. Breakfast.  One of the nice things about Dov is that he's not a picky eater.  This worked out for me, as I was able to give him the same breakfast his sister had refused yesterday.  It was yogurt with bananas and although my daughter likes yogurt and bananas apparently I made a HUGE mistake putting the banana IN the yogurt. There is a reason my going on four year old is still wearing 2t clothes (frum brands no less!) and my just turned two year old is also wearing 2t clothes.  

Dov can't hold still, though.  So breakfast is a very active affair.  Fine, whatever.  Do your worst, Dov. Spoiler alert: Dov's worst involved getting yogurt everywhere. There is yogurt all over everything I own. He's also quite sensory. I get a little touched out. (This is an understatement.)  

There are several books that have to be read between starting the yogurt and finishing the yogurt.  There's also a lot of running around and looking out the window to see garbage trucks, rolling on mommy, being told NOT to roll on mommy, biting mommy, being told NOT to bite mommy, etcetera, etcetera. If I was a different mom I'd strap Dov in the high chair and tell him no food if he got up.  But unfortunately, I'm a former preschool teacher.   I foster independence even when it's super inconvenient! 

Dov really caps off his morning in the best possible way. With about t-minus one hour until I can take him to camp in a neighbors backyard, Dov run/toddles into the living room. In one hand he's clutching a bencher. In the other hand he had a bottle of sesame salad dressing.  Dov sits down on my unrolled yoga mat with his supplies in hand. 

" I make kiddush!" he announces.  I watch in amusement as Dov opens the bencher. Uh-oh.  Satisfied with his progress, he moves on to opening the wine. The wine that is actually a goopy sticky bottle of salad dressing. He's making too much progress twisting off the cap, more than I'd like. This is what comes of fostering independence.

"all done, Dov" I say, quickly grabbing the salad dressing and realizing that I should have spent less time admiring how cute it was considering how loose the cap was! "let's make kiddush with a toy cup ok?"

"YEAH!" says Dov. Ah, a rare agreeable mood. They used to be his default but he flipped a switch a few weeks ago when he turned two. Kid is TEXTBOOK.  I quickly replace his treasure with a plastic kiddush cup filled to the brim with plastic purple wine.  BH". Crisis averted. 

Five minutes later Dov spills my coffee.