How tonight would have gone down in my single days:

“Hi, I’m here about the ad for the tv stand?”

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry, we don’t have any of that particular model in stock, but I can show you a slightly smaller one so you can get an idea if you’d like it.”

“That’d be great.”

We walk over to the tv stand.

“Oh, that’s pretty. And the center drawer can be removed, so we can fit all the equipment in the glass section?”

“Yes.”

“And it comes in this color?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful. I’d like to order it.”

“Thank you. Sign here, here, and here, and we’ll give you a call when it’s in stock.”

“Thank you.”

****************

How tonight REALLY went down:

“Hi, I’m here about the ad for…DRAGONMONKEY, GET BACK HERE… for the tv stand?”

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry, we don’t have any of that particular model in stock–“

AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA!

“Yes, I see the drinking fountain. I’ll get you some water in a second. SHHHH. I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, we don’t have any of that model in stock…”

AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA! AGUA!

“DRAGONMONKEY, HUSH! If you don’t knock it off, no water for you. EVER.”

“Agua? Agua? Mas Agua? Bye Bye? Go? Go? Go? Go? Go Car? GO?”

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

“…but I can show you a slightly smaller one so you can get an idea if you’d like it?”

“Huh? Oh, uhm… sure. What? Sure. Whatever…DRAGONMONKEY, NO TOUCH! DON’T TOUCH THAT! DROP IT!”

We head in the direction of the tv stands, the DragonMonkey lunging left and right, straining against the leash of his monkey backpack like an angry pitbull.

“TAKE MY HAND. NOW. DON’T TOUCH.”

“Ma’am, this is the tv stand. It’s slightly smaller, but….”

“I’m sorry, one moment…” I interrupt her and bolt (well, waddle, really) after the DragonMonkey, who has somehow managed to yank his monkey leash out of my hand and is flying helter–skelter towards the open door and parking lot.

“DRAGONMONKEY, WAIT!”

Hahahahahahahahahaha! Go! Go! Go! Hahahahahahahahaha!

I catch up with him, lunging forward to grab his collar the second before he hits the street, and end up grabbing some of his hair with it.

Ow! OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MWAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!! OWWWWWWWW!

I bend over and hoist him up to my shoulder (no small feat, seeing as how my due date is only days away) and huff my way back into the store.

OW! OWWW! OWWWWWWWWWW!

The DragonMonkey sobs incoherently, grasping at the back of his head melodramatically.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” I raise my voice to be heard over his tortured screams.

“Uhh… I was saying this is similar… to, uh…”

The young woman in front of me is obviously childless. She keeps glancing at the DragonMonkey, and then back at me, waiting for me to acknowledge his obvious injury.

“He’s fine. He’s just tired. What about this tv stand?”

“It’s similar in style, but slightly, uh… smaller…” She seems distraught at my apparent lack of sympathy, so I give in to peer pressure and rub the DragonMonkey’s back absently.

The DragonMonkey calms his screams, mollified that I am at last acknowledging the grievous, evil, torturous thing I just did to him.

In fact, he’s so mollified that he immediately begins twisting around in my arms. “Go? Go? Go? Agua? AGUA? AGUA? AGUA?”

I drop him to the floor, taking a firm hold on the edge of the leash, wishing for the millionth time that it was legal to use a choke collar on a child. I’ve trained dozens of hyperactive dogs to heel… why can’t I manage one two-foot toddler?

“So, is there, uh, a big size difference between–STOP IT, DRAGONMONKEY — the two units?”

In an attempt to control him, I pick him up again. He immediately arches his back, flailing around like a seizure patient.

UP! UP! UP! UP! UP! UP! UP! UP! UP! UP! UP! UP! UP! UP! UP! UP!

He’s saying up, but he means down, and eventually I drop him at my feet, where he begins straining at the leash again, lunging at glass table tops and suede leather couches that I am deliberately keeping just out of his reach.

I’m beginning to understand why some animals eat their young.

The saleslady and I start increasing the pace of the conversation, both of us sensing that a meltdown is only minutes away.

“Differences?”

“Smaller. Shorter. Same Style.”

“Same color?”

“Yes.”

“Price on the internet?”

“Yes.”

We sound like two auctioneers haggling over the price of a horse, but it gets the job done.

I mean, I know it’s my fault— the DragonMonkey has a cold. He missed his nap today. It was past his bedtime. I should have known better and not even tried to go to the store….

Still, what am I going to do with two? Good Lord. Good thing he’s cute.

The DragonMonkey is a creature of rituals.

He has a certain order at his bedtime routine, and every couple of weeks it seems something new is added.

It used to be that he needed to be nursed to go to sleep.

Once he self-weaned, that gravitated into needing a bottle to go to sleep.

Of course, let’s not forget that from the time he was three months old he was attached to his “Bahn-keee”, a small square of blue and white blanket my sister-in-law bought us from Target. He drags it around with him like a little Linus, chewing on the edges and sniffing it when he needs to self-soothe. For as many places as Bahnkee has gone, it’s held up surprisingly well.

Bahnkee and a bottle… that’s not too confusing, right?

Eventually we started the tradition of giving him kissies before bed.

“Give mama a kiss,” I’ll ask, and my son will open his mouth in a gaping, slobbery pantomime of a kiss, wetting my cheek with a loud, overemphasized “AWWWWWMMWWA!”

“Now give one to Dada,” The Bean will say. The DragonMonkey hones in on the Bean and I take advantage of the momentary distraction to wipe the spit off my cheek.

Slimy baby kisses. They’re not for the faint of heart.

After we’ve both been thoroughly spitted-up, the DragonMonkey juts his chin out expectantly and The Bean and I both lay a kiss on him at the same time. We lay him down in his crib, and hand him Bahnkee and his baba. We turn out the lights, close the door behind us, and voila. Bedtime has reached another successful conclusion.

That worked well for a few months, until one day I realized that the bedtime routine had developed an interesting new addition.

As I lay him down on the changing table to give him a fresh diaper for the night, The DragonMonkey’s hand will dart down, and he grabs his crotch in distress.

“Popo! Popo!” he says urgently.

“Do you have to use the bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

“ Do you have to go popo?”

“Yeah.” He squeezes his diaper harder, his need to poo apparently reaching critical levels.

I sigh, strip him of his pants and diaper, and watch as his bare little butt trots off in the direction of the bathroom….

Where suddenly he has absolutely no desire to sit on the toilet, or even go near it. Suddenly, it has become absolutely critical that he pet the “Dat” who is sitting impatiently on the counter, meowing for the water to be turned on.

After a few minutes of threatening I force him onto his potty seat, where he sits kicking his legs and straining to reach the toilet paper so he can wipe himself for the millionth time.

Naturally, nothing actually comes out.

We flush the pristine, unused toilet, wash our hands and return to the changing table, where I put a fresh diaper on and coat him liberally with powder.

“POBO.”

“No, DragonMonkey, it’s taaaalco. It’s not polvo. Polvo is dust. This is Talco – Baby powder.”

“POBO.”

“It’s Talco.”

“POBO.”

“Talco.”

“POOOOOOOBOOOOOOOOO,” he corrects me. Sternly.

“Fine. Polvo. Whatever.”

He nods, appeased. “POBO. Mama. Pobo Mama.”

His hand darts suddenly down the front of his diaper, and emerges chalk white with fresh baby powder.

“Pobo. Mama,” he says warmly, gently smearing the powder on my forearm.

I hate this part of the ritual. Just what Mama wants at the end of a long day— baby-crotch-powder all over my arm. Yaaay.

“Yeah, you sure put that TALCO all over the Mama.”

“Pobo. POOOOBOOO Mama.”

“Sure. Whatever. I’ve been thorough ‘pobo-ed’. Thanks, DragonMonkey.”

I stuff him into some ridiculously cute feetie pajamas, The Bean grabs him, we engage in the kissing ritual, and he finally goes to bed.

Until recently.

Recently, The DragonMonkey has added a new stalling ritual.

Bedtime still starts out the same:

I go to change his diaper.

He develops the sudden, inescapable urge to poo.

We go into the bathroom and try to ignore the obnoxious cat.

Nothing comes out.

We go back into the bedroom and put on a fresh diaper.

He ‘poboes’ my left arm.

I pick him up.

The Bean takes him from me.

We make sure we have the three Bahnkees he has now added to the list of necessary sleep items.

We get ready to engage in the kissing ritual, aaaand…

“A-da, Monkey.”

The Bean and I sigh. Here we go again.

“Good night, stuffed monkey,” we say, as the DragonMonkey waves goodnight to the tiny stuffed monkey dangling from a shelf.

“A-da, toys.”

“Good night, toys,” we repeat in exhaustion, waiting until the DragonMonkey has waved goodnight to to his pile of toys on the shelf.

“A-da, popo.”

“Good night, poop dispenser.”

“A-da, tuck.”

“Good night, toy truck.

“A-da , Caaawr.”

“Good night, toy cars.”

“A-da, doggie.”

“Good night, picture of Clifford.”

“A-da, choo-choo.”

“Good night, trains.”

“A-da, baby.”

“Good night, book with the baby picture on the front.”

And so on, and so forth.

The DragonMonkey draws this process out for as long as he can. We say good night to every single item in his room.

Every toy.

Every stuffed animal.

We bid adieu to the “outside” that is behind his curtains.

We wish “Dot” a good night sleep— although how and when he decided that the picture hanging above his bed was named Dot, I’ll never know.

Every individual monkey, moon, photo, car, toy, book, and other visible noun is wished a good night’s sleep.

When he runs out of ideas and we begin threatening to put him to bed without his kissies, he turns his attention to us. Lately, he’s been lovingly wishing the Bean’s left ear a good night’s rest. “A-da. ‘eja,” (adios, oreja) he says in a familiar tone, his hand patting the top of the Bean’s hand condescendingly.

We would put a stop to this obvious stalling behavior, but frankly it’s a good chance to try to decipher the DragonMonkey’s garbled vocabulary.

Besides, it won’t be too many more years before he’ll resent me coming into his room at night, so I figure I better enjoy this while I can.