Luke (20 mos) and I have been working on counting lately. We count his fingers and toes. We count the stairs as we climb up and down. We count his blocks.
To confuse matters slightly, we also use a method of discipline known as "1-2-3 Magic". It consists of managing the child’s misbehavior by counting to three and ultimately putting them in timeout if the behavior continues.
I, however, like to call it “1-2-3 Don’t Hit Your Kid Too Much”, because that’s really my goal. Society frowns upon people punching babies, and thus, 1-2-3 Magic was invented.
Always ahead of the curve, Luke has already begun acting like a two year old. I don’t wish to embarrass him with the details of his misbehavior, but suffice it to say that he puts on a good show. He was giving one of these performances yesterday when I was changing his diaper. Exasperated to be foregoing another tantrum so soon after the last, I looked at him and said, “That’s one!”
He smiled back at me, in the sweet little way that only he can, and said, “two, six, eight!” I tried not to laugh and wondered how to explain that we weren’t counting for fun, but rather because he was in trouble. However, the moment had passed and he was back to being my sweet little boy. So I scrapped the lecture and we counted his fingers and toes. A good mother I am, but consistent I am not.