Stressed is Desserts spelled backwards

I know I said I would not be posting for another week or so but I am in need of a major vent so I don't go crazy. You are hearing this direct from Nervous Breakdown Sheridan. I put Squish down for a nap at 12:30 because I have to have him awake by 3 to take to my mom's with Princess Drool {Miss Munchkin's new name. She wears it well.} so that I have the afternoon to finish prepping for the photo shoot tomorrow which begins at 7am. 

Even though we have one of those crib tents on his bed, he manages to take the seams apart at the corners and shove his two giraffes out. Squish not sleeping with his giraffes is like the equivalent of telling a smoker they can't have nicotine. Did I just compare my 2 year old to a smoker? See. Nervous breakdown. Or better yet, like taking away chocolate almond butter from me. It's just something you don't do. So he shoves his giraffes out and I go up 7 times to give them back. I know I know, I shouldn't even bother, he is total delay tactic master at the tender age of barely 2 years old. He knows mommy will keep coming back. Asking for water, milk or a diaper change are tricks of a small-time delayer. So beneath my child. He is now at the point of asking to go to Sea World instead of taking a nap. He also puts in the request that while at Sea World, we purchase the Sea World Training Team 18-Wheeler. I kid you not.

Lately, he is also obsessed with having every part of his body under the blanket. So if I cover him and so much as a toe gets out of the covers, it is DEFCON 5 and all you know what breaks loose. He honestly screams as if he is trying to get the lead role in Hostel 5: When Toddlers Attack. So I go back to put his giraffes back in the crib AND put the blanket back on him, his thighs, knees, shins, ankles and all 10 toes. As I leave he has his head on the pillow. 

Sign of relief. Finally I can get some work done. 

I get to the tv downstairs and look on the screen - we have a camera installed above his bed that is linked to the tv {genius if I do say so myself} - and in the, oh, 21 seconds it has taken me to get from his room to the tv, he now has his diaper on his head. 

.........take a breath.........

I head back upstairs as a patient, loving, totally not stressed or irritated mother. Obviously. He lays down and I put his diaper back on. And then I realize that in this short time span he has peed. In. The. Crib. 

I do believe a small amount of steam came out of my ears at this point. 

I take him out, strip the sheets, look over, and while my back was turned he has somehow unlocked his diaper pail and is digging for gold with such gusto you'd think it was a scene from California in 1849. WHAT THE HECK LITTLE MAN?! 

Nervous breakdown, commence. So much for two peaceful hours of work. Where is my chocolate almond butter.