Mostly obedient child that he is, Jacob has reached the stage where he’s testing whether instruction-giving is a two-way street. He’s so used to hearing directions like, “sit down” and “eat what’s on your plate,” that it’s only natural that he starts trying to dish them out himself.
Sometimes it’s cute, like when he reminds that I should be on the floor playing with him instead of in a chair knitting.
Other times it’s healthful. I’ve been more hydrated in the past few weeks than I probably ever have been because every time I finish a glass of water, juice, whatever, he’s on my case to refill and drink. When I’m eating with him, he’ll encourage me to eat my food—even before it’s fully prepared. The good news is that he hasn’t been asking for my food as often, but I find I’m eating too quickly sometimes to appease him. Cool your jets, little man.
And then there are moments where I see a little tyrant struggling to emerge. Like when he needs me to sit on the floor instead of in the rocking chair before bed. Or when he tells me to clean up his toys, and he’s not going to help. This morning he asked me to stop what I was doing on the couch (knitting, obviously) and come over to a certain place on the floor to read a book. He handed me the book and then walked away, back to the kitchen chair where he was playing.
Um, excuse me?
Reality check, Jacob: I’m still the mom; you’re still the baby. Your suggestions are appreciated, but I’m the boss. Just don’t get any cuter, and we’ll both come out of this thing just fine.