Mozart gave his lungs a good work-out this evening. He should be ready to sing his first aria by the time he talks. Seriously. After a good hour of fussing over not being picked up while I cooked dinner (Mommy, heaven forbid, had a headache, and was trying - probably unsuccessfully - to rest). I finally put him in the Ergo for a ride while I finished dinner, but after he hit me, he ended up in the Pack 'n' Play for a minute, as is the rule, when he hits or is otherwise unruly. He pulled it together after getting into his high chair and being served some water. But when the plate was presented, he first threw several bites onto the floor. Then his cup. I took the plate away, which made for a full tantrum to come back, but again, he pulled it together to ask for the plate back, with a please even. Now, in retrospect, he was likely asking for the cup back, because when the plate was placed on his tray, he promptly threw the whole thing down.
This did not go over well with the Mama.
(And you know it's serious when I start talking about myself in third person.)
The Mama had about had it during dinner when the Boy clung to her legs and repeatedly flung himself in her path, nearly tripping her, oh, so many times. The Mama scooped the Boy up and out of his chair and carted him straight upstairs to be turned over to Mommy. This way nobody got hurt.
Mozart then demonstrated his intent to become an opera star by really belting out a full-forced example of just how strong his lungs are. I'm not really sure how long it went on for, but along with the screaming and yelling, there was a fair amount of flailing, kicking and fist pounding. The Wife is amazing in her patience for that business. I'm not sure exactly what she did, but eventually the screams gave way to what sounded vaguely like a conversation between the two of them and then he had his bath, pitched his usual fit getting his jammies on, and apparently quite enjoyed story time before falling fast asleep.
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