The little man, as I've described in previous posts, is getting into EVERYTHING. He has also lost the ability to listen to ANYTHING I say, and will go so far as to blatantly do the opposite of what I'm asking.
I know, I know, this is par for the course for a three year old. Let me tell you, although there is some comfort knowing this phase will eventually end, that "par for the course" nugget of information doesn't actually help in the day to day dealings with my little hellian. He's not particularly mischievous, he's just utterly curious and always on the move. He cannot be trusted for a fraction of a second to sit still and not get into trouble, destroy something or tick off his sister.
And despite the hip-to-toe cast on the little miss, she is somehow on the verge of crawling. Through an intricate dance of inch-pivot-inch-pivot-inch, she can move amazing distances with surprising speed and agility. We're afraid that when the cast does come off next week she'll be off like a shot and we won't be able to catch her.
I've written about not being able to keep up with the household maintenance, but we've entered a whole new dimension now. With Mr. Awesome working or away, showers alone have become a thing of the past. Luckily, we have a large enough shower that the little man can happily play with his plastic cups while I manically clean off the spit-up/farm funk/potting soil/workout sweat that has him gagging and saying "Mummy stinks." Thanks for that, I already felt so pretty.
Although not relaxing or private, showers are fairly manageable. At least he's confined to a small-ish space and can't get into too much trouble. But there's another time that's not so easy. A time when some privacy would actually be kind of nice. A time when my movements (pun unintentional, I swear) are somewhat restricted to an arm's reach at best. And God forbid I lock the door to keep him out. That would either result in a knocking and yelling extravaganza, or him wandering off out of earshot and getting into some new adventure... think Thomas the Train meets the Dishwasher of Doom. Even having him in the room with me while I take care of business isn't the answer, as he can very easily just open the door and walk out.
It's fine in his world, as he still refuses to poop on the potty and continues to deposit "presents" ranging from grapes to grenades in his underwear on a twice-daily basis. HE doesn't need any privacy to get the job done.
And now, please refer back to the title...