And The Emmy Goes To ...

Yeah, so the Terrible Twos, not as much of a myth as I always thought they were. Don't get me wrong, Max is still one of the top two most wondrous beings currently walking the planet. He has an inherent sort of delightfulness that even being two cannot squelch. I have, however, noticed that it is taking exponentially longer than it used to to enlist Max's cooperation for even the most simple and mundane of projects. Bedtimes, for instance. Mealtimes. And oh, my Lord, the diaper changes. Today, detecting the bewitching and unmistakable odor of Max poo wafting on the breeze, I got out the changing pad and a fresh diaper. "NO, NO!" cried Max. "All done! All done dipeys! No poops!" Then, weeping piteously, he fled down the hallway, ran into our bedroom, and slammed the door behind him, leaving me standing there with the changing pad, reflecting darkly on what his teenage years were going to be like. By the time I had set down the pad and walked down the hallway, though, Max had apparently recovered, because when I knocked on the door, he opened it with a smile on his face, and while he tried to escape the diaper change (being true to his principles is important to him), he giggled throughout the cleaning/diapering/recapturing/pinning to the changing pad process. It's an emotional roller coaster around here, I tell ya.