This morning, it took me 20 full minutes to dress the Tasmanian Devil and get him out the door.
Why? Because the Tasmanian Devil is a boneless little boy who hates diaper changes, removal of pajamas, any attempt to put on pants and a shirt, those evil things that cover his cute wiggly toes and, above all else, SHOES.
He doesn't like putting his blankie down. He doesn't like that I won't let him put his own toothpaste on his toothbrush. He doesn't like that he's not allowed to fill a disposable paper dinosaur cup with water and pour it all over the sink countertop.
He doesn't like that I can pick him up and carry him in a football hold (so I don't get a hard baby skull slammed into my face) down the stairs. He doesn't like that, when I set him down, he's not allowed to just run back up the stairs. He doesn't like that he's supposed to wear a coat outside since it's cold.
He doesn't like being carried -- football-hold again -- to the car. He despises having to sit in the car seat. He LOATHES being buckled in.
You know what's funny? My Noah doesn't mind these things at all. He's an easygoing kid who smiles pretty much all the time.
But I think he's been overtaken. By the dreaded 2-year-old plague.
Temper tantrums.
Ahh, yes, the 2 year old dictator-tot! We used to be similarly afflicted.