Is that how the saying goes?
Guess The Angus Diaries is where my heart is. I just can’t fight it.
I just took Angus to get his 12/18 month shots. (Oh yeah… he’s almost 21 months. We’re a wee bit behind!)
I had a late night last night and woke up early to go to this appointment so we were both pretty grumpy this morning. But Angus perked up when we got in the building and saw all these neat corridors to run down and doors to open and people working to charm/irritate!
Sure he played with a few of the lame toys with the other kids. But that got boring pretty quickly… and then he was off like a shot, running like a marathon runner up and down these hallways, sleepy mother grumbling behind him.
And then there’s all these sweet, gentle children, playing with the toys in the waiting room, staying close to their parents. Why couldn’t I have one of those quiet, gentle children who clings to their parents? I’m so quiet and gentle myself and I’m not outgoing with strangers… but I have this boisterous, ROWDY, difficult, LOUD child! Sometimes I really don’t know how to deal with him. I know I’m not one of those wishy-washy mothers — I had no problem being firm with him and the occasional swat on the hand is ABSOLUTELY necessary. The kid is super strong-willed — I have to assert my position as authority figure early on! Before he’s bigger than me!
But sometimes I get nasty looks when I am pinning Angus down to get his boots and jacket on. I guess it looks like I’m being rough with him But they don’t understand! The kid is STRONG! And he puts up a fight! One must be agile and strong to manipulate those windmilling arms and legs into outdoor gear. And super quick too, to avoid getting a black eye.
And of course, whenever we leave a place, and he doesn’t wanna leave (which is always) he throws a world-class tamtrum, hurling himself to the floor kicking and screaming and making a huge scene. My usual method is to do the Supermom wrestling maneuver to get those arms and legs into their jackets and boots, and then tuck the feral animal under my arm and make a tight-lipped, speedy exit, not looking at any of those other mothers with their angelic little children. (I hope those kids turn into world-class brats later on.)
(I’ve said it before — this must be my life lesson to learn. Something about patience and tolerance. Or maybe he was sent to me to teach me to adopt some Angus-like qualities.)
So anyway, he was weighed and his height and head circumference were measured. He’s 30 pounds now, which doesn’t surprise me. He’s in the 10th percentile for height… and the 75th percentile for weight, haha. So he’s gonna be short and stocky. (With a gigantic head, too.)
He’s starting to say lots of words now, too. Right when I thought I couldn’t take anymore of hearing the word “NO!” shouted all day long… he’s now come out with, “NO WAY!” Sometimes accompanied with a flying object hurled at my head, such as my coffee cup.
“Oh fuh.” (Er… is it wrong that I think that one is kinda funny? Bad mommy!)
And this one: “Ugh, why.”
Sometimes I think Angus is a really, really bad child. But most times I think it’s pretty normal behaviour. He’s just ‘spirited.’ That’s what they say to describe kids like him, right?
Either way, it’s lots of fun. Between dodging teeth and nails and flying trucks and black eyes and bruises, he can be pretty sweet, too.