The Toddler Battle Plan

Parents, I discovered something incredibly frightening today – our toddlers are conspiring against us. That’s right, they’re working together to slowly steal our last fragments of sanity in order to overthrow our control of our households.

This evening, in fact, as I was putting my 16-month-old, KT, to bed, I discovered the following behind her changing table. I suggest you do a search in your own home to find out what your toddler has in store for you.

Field Report, 10/16/2010

To My Comrades in Arms:

I, KT Plegge, in accordance with our Toddler Manifesto, submit the following report from today’s covert operation.

I started my day quite early this morning. Knowing Mommy struggles to wake me up at 7 a.m. every weekday morning, I set my internal alarm clock to go off at 5 a.m. on a Saturday to take advantage of her sleep deprivation throughout the day in order to undermine her.

My breakfast consisted of a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of milk lovingly prepared by Mommy. However, by shrieking and crying, I pointed out that her breakfast muffin looked much more delicious, and when she generously offered the household’s last remaining pastry to me, I accepted it and threw it to the dog.

As you are aware, my allies, Sophia and Aiden, and I have been working closely together to plant baby-friendly propaganda into the media outlets our parents watch and read. Due to our actions, my parents romanticize the ideas of pumpkin patches and apple picking, and this weekend, they officially lost their minds to think, “Forget picking up a $4 pumpkin at the garden center! We can totally take a 1-year-old to the pumpkin patch during her naptime. We’re sure she’ll be OK this one day.”

While at the farm, I worked undercover as an obedient toddler until the 20-minute tractor ride to the pumpkin patch. It was during this time, when my family and 30 strangers were packed like sardines in a wagon, that I made eye contact with my fellow babies. Upon the signal of sticking my finger up my nose, we simultaneously broke out into a collective temper tantrum. Not only did our chorus of shrieking cause our parents to break out in hives, but it led our mothers to break out the emergency packs of crushed Cheez-Its they had hidden in their purses. Victory is delicious!

On the way home from the pumpkin patch, surrounded by my exhausted, sweaty and embarrassed parents, I managed to wail the entire drive until, of course, I drifted to sleep at the last stoplight before our street. The moment Mommy took me out of my car seat, I woke up with a smile and managed to stay awake the rest of the afternoon in order to perform the following in no particular order:

• Hide the remote control.
• Take all the LeapFrog magnets off the refrigerator and deposit them around the house.
• Pull the garbage out of the kitchen trash can.
• Throw pumpkins across the living room.
• Rip chunks out of my big sister’s hair.
• Snatch handfuls of dog food from the dog food bowl and deposit the kibble into the dog’s water bowl.
• Run around the house with an open bottle of soy sauce.
• Pull the garbage out of the bathroom trash can.

By this time, I’m positive I had won my battle against my parents – I could tell by the steady stream of censored swearing and the claw marks they scratched into their own faces. I knew they were counting down the minutes until I fell asleep, and they could crash on the couch with a bottle of cherry wine and Modern Family on the DVR. Yet, I had one more trick up my sleeve I’d been waiting to unleash on a night just like this.

I climbed out of my crib.

Yeah, that’s right, I may be only 16 months old, but I managed to shimmy down the crib rail and run down the hallway.

Mommy and Daddy immediately lowered the crib and removed the bumper pad.

And then I climbed out again.

Domination was mine! From that point forward, my game plan would consist of staying up all hours of the night, forcing my parents to watch Wonder Pets until 2 in the morning, and eating nothing but Sno Balls and fruits snacks.

But then, as always, Mommy pulled out the heavy artillery – she lifted me out of my crib, laid me on her chest, and rocked me. She quietly sang me Justin Timberlake songs and stroked my back. She whispered how lucky she was to have me. She gave me a kiss and told me she loved me.

And with that, I surrendered and fell sweetly and silently to sleep. Defeated, but loved.

By Nicole Plegge, Lifestyle Blogger for SmartParenting