I have given birth to a crazy little bugger

So the boy and I are, as usual, fighting about his nap this morning. He waved at me about 8:30 this morning, telling me that he was ready for a nap since he got up at the friggin' ass-crack of dawn - like he does daily since the stupid time change. I put him to bed, eat breakfast, read blogs and make a grocery list. He has lay quietly, stood and yelled at me and pooped. It has been a busy morning and we are still awaiting the arrival of the first nap. He has been in bed for an hour already.

I feel bad. I know he is tired and will just be a crab if I get him up, but he doesn't really seem to be in a mood to sleep. Case in point: I went to try and rock him (I know, cry-it-out, I shouldn't do that, but most days it helps and we all get the rest and peace we need) and he thinks it is beyond funny to take one pointy little sharp-nailed finger and tap me in the middle of my forehead. Tap. Tap. Tap. It's like funny baby-finger-torture-for-mommy. We laugh. This does not help the sleeping situation.

Lordy, I just wish he would clue me in on the daily schedule when he gets up in the morning. "Mommy, today I will not take a morning nap, but I will eat well and promise not to be a monster while I am up, even if I do not sleep." Or at least: "Mommy, I'm going to be a brat. Go to Starbucks and treat yourself; you're going to need it."

I guess I have to go tend to him. At least he is the cutest little crazy bugger I know...