“I know. You’re tired. And it’s hard to process different perspectives when you’re not even two yet, much less when you’re not even twoandtired. Come have snuggles and water and let’s read a book.”
“Not dybobar,” he repeats.
“Okay. You didn’t see the same thing Jonas saw. C’mere, Bashy-boo. Let’s have hugs. We’ll talk about the dinosaurs after snuggles and hugs.”
Jonas is watching me. I have no idea if he thinks I’m being an asshole for not telling Bash it’s not nice to wreck his friend’s toys, or if he thinks I’m an angel of patience for not losing my shit right back.
Bash flops onto his stomach and army crawls the six inches to my knees then holds up one chubby little arm, a silent plea for me to do the rest of the work to pick him up and cuddle him.
I’ll talk to him about being nice to friendsafterhis nap.
Experience tells me if I try now, he’ll go straight back into angry-land and he won’t sleep well.
He’ll hear the lesson better after he’s had his basic needs met.
I get the little guy settled upstairs after three more books than usual for our naptime routine, then head back downstairs despite wanting a nap myself.
Jonas is squatting in the middle of my living room, picking up the blocks. He eyes me warily as I hit the bottom step.
“Sorry about that,” he says quietly.
I shake my head. “It wasn’t your fault. He has few enough reasoning skills when he’s not approaching naptime.”
“Did I do anything wrong? If there’s something I can do better next time—”
“Parenthood is an experience in continuously feeling like you’re wrong.”
He looks down at the blocks, then back up at me. “It was too a dinosaur. Want to see a picture?”
I feel my eyes widen and a roar ofare you seriously still arguing with a two-year-old?start to bubble up in my chest as he cracks a grin.
“Kidding. It was a really bad dinosaur. I sent the picture to Begonia and she asked if Bash made a couch out of blocks.”
I sink into the fluffy recliner that saw many,manyhours of me attempting to breastfeed Bash, followed by many, many more hours of snuggles and bottles. “I donothave the energy for you today.”
“Take a nap. I’ll do your work.”
“I’d love to see how you handle the quarterly tax estimation mess my new clients got themselves into before calling me.”
“Easy peasy. Just send the IRS all of the money—like,allof it—and straighten it out next year.”
My eyes are sliding shut. They shouldn’t be. I don’t have time for this.
But life hasn’t exactly been a bowl of cherries lately.
The blocks quit knocking together, and I hear what sounds like the lid snapping shut on the block container, and then the container being deposited back in the corner.
“You need anything?” Jonas asks quietly.
“Just to get up and do my work.”
“I meant food or a blanket.”
“No, thank you.”
A chicken is deposited in my lap, and then the couch cushions squeak close by. “If you change your mind, I’ll be right here.”
I believe him.
