*Let me preface this by saying, I know where my hubby is and I'm proud of him for serving our country and I love and respect him for doing his duty willingly. I miss him greatly, but know that he's doing what he signed on for when he joined the military and we'll be fine until we're able to be together as a family again.*
HOWEVER there are times in a little boys life when his mama just isn't going to cut it--and I'm anxiously awaiting passing Kaleb and his little discoveries on to daddy when he gets home!
Kaleb wants to be a big boy. He wants to go potty. He gets the whole, go to the bathroom shut the door, sit down and wipe business. It's just the in-between...the actual going that he hasn't mastered. Well, okay, that's completely untrue. He is truly a master OF going, just not in the right place. Kaleb now feels a little tinkle in his diaper and strips first, gets to the bathroom second. Not exactly the best order for a little guy. So I'm certainly getting tired of scrubbing wet spots, and if he pees on my pant leg again I might cry. I view this whole sector as 'daddy's job' because Kaleb needs a mentor with the proper equipment. My example just confuses him and makes him curious enough to make me uncomfortable...
BUT the positive that I'm supposed to focus on, according to the books, is that he's recognizing the need and/or desire to go potty.
great.
So then comes the next phase. Kaleb's been able to take his own shoes, socks and pants off for a while now. He finally figured out how to take off his own shirt. Okay, simple, we've all done it for years, doesn't seem to challenging. Have you seen the size of this kid's noggin? Now compare that to the lil' head hole in those adorable little t-shirts. It's an obstacle course, but he somehow mastered it. Now my kid is a native. He CAN be naked, so now he WANTS to be naked. At all times. I'm raising a stripper.--Again...daddy, this one's going to you too. I've tried. I've failed, our kid may be a nudist for life if they don't send my hubby home soon!
And finally the last straw. Today I'm chasing Kaleb's diaper-clad butt around the house with his discarded shirt and pants in hand, attempting to resolve his little wardrobe malfunction. He climbs up onto the bed and scurries to the corner just out of reach and turns back and grins his devious little grin. He grabs the tabs of his diaper and in one smooth tear away action disrobes and yells, "PEEKABOO!"
I about died. Literally. The problem would be that it was absolutely hysterical, yet if I laugh--I give value. Suddenly his little joke becomes one encore performance after another. So there I am trying to stifle my laughter and get the kid clothed again, and I think to myself...He better pull this crap when Daddy comes home, because by dang it sure would be a lot funnier if it wasn't my kid--but it'll suffice to be able to pass the buck to daddy!
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