Today, as The Boy stopped me in my verbal tracks for the umpteenth time with these forceful words, it finally dawned on me that our two-year-old really IS the boss of our family.
Surely this kind of phrase (minus the pronoun obviously) is to be expected from a teenager, not a mere toddler?
In past weeks as these words have been uttered, I have experienced surreal flash-forwards to the teenage years. They seem so remote right now but will undoubtedly arrive in an instant. I can imagine it so clearly:
“Muuuum, that is SO uncool.” (Or whatever the trending expression of utter distaste happens to be by the year 2025 or thereabouts – gulp).
By then, however, I will surely delight in embarrassing my charges? The reality is that in the here-and-now I find myself all too often treading on eggshells in order to avoid that ever- bubbling and totally time-wasting toddler tantrum.
Yes boss, sure boss, whatever you say boss!
He likes to set the rules, this boss. And then change them sometimes multiple times a day.
I’m pretty certain that if The Boy was my actual employer I’d have jacked the job in out of pure frustration or at the very least filed an official complaint for unfair expectations.
This job is for life though. For a (comparatively) easy life, I stop what I was saying and even inwardly chastise myself for causing this unhappy outburst (for now I will inevitably have to spend the next ten minutes distracting him from his bad mood).
The trouble is, the mind of a toddler is in equal measures both unfathomable and unpredictable. It was perfectly fine for me to allude to The Gruffalo last time we were in the woods. It even raised a laugh or two as I merrily quoted from the story, cowering behind a tree trunk to hide from the beast, peeking out only to point out his purple prickles and feign disgust at its poisonous wart. The Boy loves this story. Always has.
Today though, it is the most taboo subject imaginable. Of COURSE I am meant to realise that. He is outraged that I have the audacity to engage in such amateur dramatics.
Sincere apologies are due. On my behalf, clearly. One day I will find the time to book myself on to that mind reading course.
And on that note I must end my first blog post, before The Boss chastises me for more time-wasting on the job. He needs his personal assistant to help him with a particularly tricky part of a jigsaw puzzle. His Gruffalo one, of course.