Gabe is so difficult lately. Four is an awful age, and I can just tell by the number of people who hear how old he is and respond with, "Oh, that's such a fun time." Only they're confusing actual fun right now with the hilarious stories of their child's naughty antics they have to tell years later.
I have completely rocked his world by having a baby. I want to be understanding about it, but more often than I want to be understanding, I'd like to put him in a straight jacket.
This morning, for example, when the baby got twenty minutes of sleep because he couldn't find me, walked into his room, saw the baby sleeping and decided it would be an awesome idea to slam the door twice. At which point he realized that I was in the bathroom, at which point he further realized that he also needed to use the bathroom and started screaming to be let in. So I hurriedly finished and opened the door (and I mean, this probably took me all of thirty seconds) to find him standing on the rug with pee on his shorts.
I'd like to write more, but I obviously have laundry to do.
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