OMG! I have a Toddler

My son has a fat lip.

No, I did NOT beat him. He took a flying leap off some playgroup equipment yesterday and landed on his face. A stunt that earned him the nickname of "Danger Mouse".

What was a slightly swollen lip at the time morphed into two full-blown blood bruises on the top of his mouth by this morning. I suspect it looks more painful than it actually is since it hasn't seemed to hinder him in anyway-- eating or otherwise.

My husband tells me that I should get used to the bumps and bruises that inevitably comes with a little boy. Apparently, this is nothing... I guess I'm still a little faint of heart when it come to anything hurting my son.

At the grocery store early today, a smart-alecky cashier asked, "What happened to him?!"

What happened is that he turned one and became a toddler...

Oh my GOD, I have a toddler!!!!

...and the rules of the game have completely changed. Why has no one brought this to my attention until now?

At his one year check-up with the pediatrician, I was told he's in perfect health and just the right size for a FIFTEEN MONTH OLD. It seems there was nothing wrong with giving my child formula and store-bought baby food after all. Hmmm....

The perfectly nutritious formula and baby food that I was also told that I should replace with whole milk and wholesome well-balanced meals constituted of non-choking hazard, non-allergen table food.

With the exception of dinner, I can barely get it together to feed myself a decent meal during the day. Now, I have to prepare FIVE for my son... and supervise for the entire two hours it takes for him to feed himself. That is, of course, if he doesn't get bored with eating first.

He lets me know when he's ready to be excused by sharing his food with the dog we do not and have never owned....

He starts with dropping bits of food on the floor when he thinks I'm not looking. Once he has my full attention, he usually empties his tray with one grand sweeping motion and smears the rest of it on his chair, in his hair, and his clothes.

I'm not sure what I can do to make him stop throwing food on the floor. I don't exactly have time to find the solution in the numerous parenting books people have recommended. Relying on my own devices, I've tried being stern, slowly and clearly explaining to him why...

we...

don't...

throw...

food...

I've tired sending him to bed, I've tried ignoring him, and I've tried humor.

While humor works great in getting the point across with my peers, somehow the subtext gets lost on the kid. No matter how I react, he just thinks we're playing a game and keeps doing it with an adorable smile.

Ah, yes, discipline. About that... um, I have to start doing it.

I admit, I've had it easy. My son used to just do things out of curiosity, pure and simple. Not out of defiance. Not out of frustration or anger. Not to get attention. Just because it seems fun at the time and who can't appreciate the joy in that. My job was to make sure he stayed clean and didn't get hurt.

Ahem! A task that was getting increasingly tougher as evidenced by the fat lip...

I can tell when he looks me right in the eye and throws his lunch at me with that knowing grin and mischievous laugh, he's challenging me to a duel of wills.

I think he's winning....

With my son being a toddler now, it just seems like a whole lot more is being expected of him... and more alarmingly, of me as well.