I'll admit, gleefully, that this post is a joy for me to write. There are so many things that I worried about, so many things that I wasn't sure would ever happen. But I digress. . .
It all started when I turned Charlie's car seat around. Seems harmless, right? He'd met the weight requirement a while ago, and I thought his neck strength was ready, so about a month ago I went ahead and turned his car seat to the forward-facing position.
The thing is. . . now he can see me. Sounds good, right? Well, not so much.
Despite having visual impairments and severe brain damage, Charlie quickly figured out that Mommy has control over what songs play on the radio. When we make our 45 minute trek across the lake, I plug my iPod in and jam to whatever I feel like it.
But times, they are a'changin.'
Charlie has no patience for Sarah Bareilles, anything country, or Billy Joel. He lurves Leona Lewis, Gavin DeGraw, the Black Eyed Peas, Britney, and Lady Gaga. Anybody else know that Britney's middle name was Jean?
The other day I had to listen to Poker Face twice on the ride home. Also, he seemed to find Blame it on the Alcohol quite entertaining. For the record, I hate that song and wouldn't purposely listen to the entire thing without coercion. Also, for the record, I've had to employ a lot of my own discipline techniques as we navigate the scenario where my not-even-two-year-old thinks he should have say on what plays on the radio.
So, apparently it isn't enough that I didn't sleep through the night for almost a year or that I have a four inch scar as a result of his birth. No, Charlie will not rest til he's King of the Radio.
So, damn, that was quick, and also, That's My Boy because I don't think there's anything more normal than driving your mother crazy.
That's my boy!