I had big plans on Saturday. I was going to wear my pajamas, write and lay around my house. The weekend for a stay-at-home mom means you are no longer the sole chef, referee and maid. It means my husband will be home to distract the (sweet) little monsters and I might be able to make a little headway on housework and writing responsibilities.I was ecstatic when my husband decided to take our older girls on a "date" leaving me with my littlest chickadee, Sadie. I looked forward to a quiet house, some down time with my baby and getting some writing done.

Sadie, it would seem, had very different plans for our time together. I'm not sure how she received the news, via text or email, but apparently the 2-year-olds of the world communicated to Sadie that she will be 2 very soon and it was high time to start acting terrible. She got the message loud and clear that it was time to step it up in the attitude and aggravation departments.

From the moment Sadie's eyes popped open on Saturday until I put her in her crib at 8 p.m. and ran screaming and crying out of the nursery with my frazzled hair standing on end, the only time she wasn't in physical contact with me was when she was in her bed for an entire 45 minutes at nap time. (Again with the 2-year-old rebellion thing, she usually sleeps for about two and a half hours.)

Now, I think we all know that I adore my kids. I hope you do, anyway. I love them and I like it when they get all cuddly and touchy feely. But that's not how Sadie was feeling Saturday.

I apparently morphed into a human jungle gym overnight. When Sadie looked at me she no longer saw her loving and nurturing mother, but a human playground. Sadie wasn't satisfied unless she was swinging around my neck, teetering on my lap or sliding down my legs. She stood between my legs while I tried to cook lunch, tugging at the drawstring in my pants until they began to fall off of my hips. When I tucked the drawstrings away and out of her reach, she began pulling on the hem of my t-shirt, stretching it way past its limit, until I heard seams popping.

I tried stopping everything and sitting down to hold her, but this only gave her easier access to inflict pain. I attempted to hold her in my lap and sing her favorite songs to her and was rewarded by a slap in the face, and that ain't a figure of speech. I put her in time out, where she smiled smugly, showing off the dimples in her fat little cheeks. I suppose she felt very grown up, sitting where she sees her big sisters sit so often.

I tried to read to her. Sadie seized the opportunity, while my hands were tied up holding a book, to attempt to touch my brain by shoving a tiny finger up my nose and another finger in my ear. Her assault on my body orifices didn't end there, as she kept jerking my t-shirt up and jamming her chubby little finger into my belly button and yelling, "Mommy button!"

By bedtime my entire body ached. My husband and the big girls had been gone for six hours and I had only managed to write maybe 600 words...and 80 percent of those were on Facebook or Twitter. "Send help," I tweeted. "My 19-month-old is abusing me!"

I was exhausted. I felt like I'd been in a cage match with a 24 pound Ultimate Fighting champion and lost badly. If this behavior continues I'll have no choice but to either find a self-defense against toddlers class or start wearing football pads to do housework.

(Robin O'Bryant is a former Mount Pleasant resident and mother of three. Read her blog online at www.robinschicks.com or e-mail her, robinschicks@gmail.com.)