On Wednesday you turned three and a half years old. I know, I know. It's not a birthday, but lately, with all the things going on in the world (not good things) I have decided to appreciate and enjoy the good ones.
And you are definitely one of those.
I was just reading an article today about how parenting kinda, sorta sucks, and it is a lot of drudgery and unsatisfied business.
Well, I wondered a few things.
1. Did these people never babysit small children? EVER? Are they somehow surprised that wiping butts is not bliss?
2. These people are dumb asses.
One of the reasons I waited so long to have you was that: I did indeed babysit and knew what it was like to take care of little children. (I was also getting paid $5 an hour (tax-free!) to watch four kids back when working at McDonald's was $4.25 an hour.) Total no-brainer.
I knew that getting no sleep would suck.
|You have no problem with sleep...|
Seriously, who doesn't know that? Complete and utter dumbasses, that's who. As you get bigger and go out into the world, you will find many of these people. A lot of them drive Chevy's and don't know how to merge.
So yes, parenting is hard because it is mentally exhausting. Have you ever tried to read The Poky Little Puppy three times in a row? Out loud? There's a lot of words in there.
Or play tea party and eat fake cookies and bugs? That beetle was delicious. The worm was chewy. I especially liked the cookie tea.
Or play with play dough? Or make homemade play dough, like we did yesterday? Thanks, Youtube! I'm glad I had cream of tartar in the cupboard. Back when I was dumb I thought cream of tartar was for making tartar sauce.
Somehow, I graduated from college.
We spent about 45 minutes making the play dough. Cooking it on the stove. Then rolling it out, adding food coloring (my fingernails are still bluish) and then making all seven colors of dough.
You were thrilled.
You rolled dough and cut dough for approximately 45 seconds. Then you said, "I'm done now."
Then you got a little tired and whiny. I asked if you needed a nap.
You said, "You take a nap, Momma."
So I did.
You covered me up with a blanket, gave me a book and your stuffed octopus and turned the light off. "Good night, Momma. See you in the morning."
Then you shut the door.
I laid in the dark and stared at the ceiling and laughed.
You came back. "Do you need anything, little one?" You asked me in your momma's voice.
I thought about it. "I need a hug."
I guess what I'm trying to say is that yes, it's hard to take care of kids. Only crazy people would want to do that.
Call me crazy.
I love you, Sena.