To Washington D.C. is still with us, still affecting the very fabric of our lives. In other words, it is depriving us of copious amounts of sleep.
“How, how how?” you ask.
I’m glad you asked.
For a few nights now Tank Boy has been waking up crying, telling us he’s scared, even getting into bed with us one night. He mumbled something about the monsters not getting him. Hmmm . . . I guess this is about the right age for nightmares and monsters. He even woke up scared from his nap yesterday.
This morning he wants me to go upstairs and play trains with him. He doesn’t want to play alone. He doesn’t want to be upstairs alone because he is scared of . . . .
It was the one thing actually worth seeing in that basement of fish tanks otherwise known as The National Aquarium, so we spent a lot of time watching it, staring at it, examining it, observing it, just being in its general vicinity. Now the two-year-old is scared of it. It is a monster.
It is a monster that apparently lives in his bedroom. He will play trains in the hallway, reluctantly, but don’t tell him the trains and the track have to stay in his bedroom. He will tell you, in his two-year-old version of English, that that is where the octopus is. So now we’re working on the idea that an octopus has to live in water, which is predictably causing him to be wary of the bathroom. Which might not be such a bad thing, actually, except that we’re just starting to have success with him peeing in the potty.
Curse you Washington D.C.!!! Curse you!!!
Have I mentioned we have no plans to go back to D.C. until the youngest child is at least 16? Who knows when that will be since we’re still waiting for the youngest to join our family. It’s going on 7 months now.
This whole situation is somewhat reminiscent of L~ at this age. She was scared of Dust Bunnies.
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt says hello from his tank, which is no where near the octopus tank.