It’s good to have a plan.
It’s what separates us from the animals, after all. That and Skymall.
This morning, for example, we had a plan. We planned to pack a bag and send the little man out with his grandma and grandpa while we stayed home and breathed.
This, of course, didn’t happen. Through whining, flopping, and negotiation he managed to extract from us a plate of cantaloupe, no baths for two days, and a moped. And he stayed home.
But we had a plan, dammit. But we had a plan.
Little man, historically, has not been much into plans. Pretty much from the outset.
I won’t go into procedure-specific detail, but we’d initially had a plan (there it is again, the plan) involving a midwife and a home birth, and we ended up in the hospital with a c-section.
And thus, precedent was set.
If you bring swimsuits and a towel to the lake, he only wants to play on the swings.
Take him on the train at the zoo (zoos and trains are his two great loves), and he whines to go home.
Gird yourself for that special sort of hell of a toddler on a plane and he sleeps through the flight.
It’s good to have a plan. It’s better to have several, and enough diapers.