A Polite Monster

Ah, the twos. Isn't this a GLORIOUS age to be alive. Learning that you have control over your universe, getting hysterically upset when not given the opportunity to control it and make decisions, at the same time becoming hysterically paralyzed when given choices. So much frustration, so few hours in a day.

Here's a typical morning for Andrew:

Wake up.
Hug mommy and demand that the offending pjs be taken off (he only wants to wear the dino pjs, and they happen to be dirty several days a week...shame on mommy)
As Mommy lays him down to take off pjs, start whining for his cup of milk.
Mommy picks him up to give him milk. Andrew starts whining for the offending pjs to come off.
Which do you want?
Andrew drinks his milk as Mommy changes him (how will this kid ever get off a sippy?)
Mommy gives Andrew 2 choices for what to wear. Andrew picks one. Seconds later, throws a fit as Mommy puts it over his head. He wants the other one, of course. Or more likely, he wants neither. This is okay on the day after laundry is done, but by the end of the week, there isn't much else to choose from.
Andrew watches Clifford while Mommy showers. (at least he DID, until PBS changed their programming schedule for 2006. Now some lame-o puppet show is on at 7:30 instead, so I don't know how I'll ever shower!)
Do you want breakfast?
Nods yes.
What would you like? Yogurt? French toast sticks?
I Can't Want it. I Can't Want to Eat. (my new favorite annoying phrase of Andrew's)
Okay, well, Mommy is going to eat.
As Mommy sits down to eat,
Fit ensues. I Want Yogurt! I want Yogurt!
Mommy gives Andrew yogurt.
No! Pink Spoon. Pink Spoon!
Mommy invites Andrew to go pick out whatever GD spoon he wants...can she just eat her breakfast now?
Andrew throws himself on the floor. I Can't Want Yogurt. I can't want it.
Fine, but Mommy is eating right now.
Andrew perches at Mommy's elbow.
All done, Mommy? Get down and play? All done, now.
Mommy is still eating. Andrew can eat or go play, I don't care.
No thank you.
Mommy doesn't respond as she tries to shovel food down her gullet.
Mommy, I said NO THANK YOU. I said no thank you. No thank you. Andrew said no. Andrew said no thank you. No thank you. Mommy? Mommy? Andrew said no thank you.
And on and on until I respond.

Ah, such is life. At least he's a polite little monster. He'll demand that I get down from the table with a cute little please. He hasn't figured out that please doesn't always get him what he wants.