Fighting

"Good morning, buddy," said JW, pulling K up on to the bed. "Have you been having a good morning with Mommy?"
K didn't say anything. "No," I supplied.
"What have you been doing?"
"Fighting."
"Fighting!" repeated K. "Fighting! Fighting!"

The immediate cause of the fighting was his repeated attempts to rub his snot into my hair. This has been going on for a few snotty-nosed days now and I have gently redirected him to a tissue or soft cloth. But this morning, after the fourth or fifth time, I lost my temper, grabbed his hand in midair and said, "Stop. Wiping. Your Snot. On Me!" He took a while to recover from the shock of being yelled at.

He was already upset because he woke up hungry. On our grocery shopping trip yesterday, I bought two of his favorite things: blackberries and bunny crackers. They were supposed to be after-dinner treats, but he didn't get them since he refused to let the delicious Moroccan chickpea stew, which I made especially for him, anywhere near his mouth. I worried that sending him to bed without dinner was too harsh, but he can't have been that hungry. Right before bed he refused my offer of milk, insisting to the bitter end on "Beh-BEWWIES! BUNNY QUACKOOOOOS!"

After reading recent posts by Lag Liv on baby urges and by Cee on how fulfilled she feels as a mother, I've been wondering if I lack some mothering gene or if I'm just more selfish than them. The latter is quite possibly true, but their kids are also a little farther away from turning two.

I guess the bright side is that after this, negotiating contracts should be a breeze.