And Wilder has apparently figured out he has it, bless his heart. (I've recently concluded that this phrase -- bless his heart -- is used in the south as a replacement for "damn him" (or her) in most instances that people use it. Example: "You see that fella right there? He rarely sets foot in a shower, bless his heart.")
Anyway, Wilder is exercising his freewill by deciding that he absolutely will not, not matter how much cajoling, forcing or just plain ignoring his parents engage in, lie down in his crib to take a nap. He's even taken to trying to sleep sitting up, whereupon he will start to topple over once he nods off, which will wake him up, and the whole process will start over again.
I get it. I really do. He can walk. He can play. He can pick up nearly any object in the house (unless his mama has a come-apart) less than three feet off the ground and run around with it. That wooden incense burner? Coolest thing EVER. A picture of mom and dad on their honeymoon? So FUN to throw on the floor! That stash of water bottles in the kitchen? Oooooh, look how pretty they are rolling all over the place!!
It's like when you turn 21, I guess, and you realize so many drinking establishments are available for your patronage. Why sleep? Why stay home and study? Why drink less than eight Jack and cokes and end up in a puddle on the bathroom floor? Common sense, you say? P'shaw! Common sense be damned! (Or, alternatley, bless the heart of common sense.)
Anyway, we're engaging in a battle of wills. He's refusing to lie down. I'm refusing to pick him up out of his crib 'til he's taken a proper nap, and that means getting prone. So far he's adapting well. Does he sit in there and scream and cry? Nope. Just plays and talks to his stuffed animals and flings binks and other items about the room. Pretty impressive really.
Hmmmm, it's become rather quiet. Let me go check ...
HA! Mama-1, Wilder-0.
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