Four hours on a Friday morning…

You know what makes me roll my eyes?  Twenty-something girls who say that their dream is to have children and be a mom.  If you are one of those ladies then please take a few moments to read what my Friday morning was like this week.

8:30 a.m. – I am washing last night’s dishes, Small Boy is meditatively dropping pieces of French toast with peach jam on the floor that I washed the day before.  They all land jam-side down.  He rubs his hands in the remaining jam on his high chair tray and finger-combs it through his hair.

8:40 a.m. – I am fighting with Small Boy to wash the jam off of his face.  He kicks me in the boob and then runs jammy fingers down my shirt.  Once he is clean I go change my shirt.

8:50 a.m. – While I am changing my shirt, Small Boy pulls a net bag of avocadoes out of the fruit bowl and on to the floor.  Then he falls on top of them.  Looks like we’re having guacamole for dinner…

9 a.m. – I am washing more dishes from breakfast.  Small Boy opens up the pantry, which for some reason is unlocked, and peeks inside.  Squeals of delight happen.  I decide to let him play with the canned food so I can wipe the jam off the floor and finish my other chores.

9:10 a.m.– Small Boy has removed every single can from the pantry and rolled them across the kitchen floor.  He has also discovered the random, opened bags of pasta that were in the back of the pantry and dumped them on the floor.  He is now chewing on dried pasta and spitting it out.

9:15 a.m. – How the Hell did he reach the paper plates and napkins?!  He ate one napkin and crushed all of the paper plates.  I am still sweeping up pasta.  He has found a tube of harissa paste and is gnawing on it.

9:20 a.m. – Entire box of Cheerios dumped on the floor.  I just noticed a familiar stinky smell.  Small Boy arches his back, screams, and kicks on the changing table, sticking his heel in his poopy diaper.

9:30 a.m. – Small Boy is experimenting with his voice, screaming at the top of his lungs while he pulls every single yogurt jar from my yogurt machine and rolls them down the hallway.

9:40 a.m. – I give him a cracker to distract him so I can continue to clean up all of the pasta, cheerios, tupperware, and canned goods that are now covering the entire kitchen floor.  He toddles off and sits down with his teddy bear to read some books.  The cracker is discarded and crushed into the shag carpet in his play area.

9:50 a.m. – I bring out the vacuum to clean up the cracker crumbs before they somehow get wet and become cracker glue.  Small Boy runs into the kitchen and starts pushing all of the buttons on the appliances in the cupboards.  Then he grows very quiet.  When I check on him I discovered that he has emptied an entire bag of animal crackers into my purse.

10:10 a.m. – Small Boy runs to the kitchen table where Huzzybee and I have foolishly left our laptops, power cords, and a digital camera.  He yanks on the tablecloth.  I dive like a volleyball player and catch various electronics before they hit the ground.  When I pick myself up I see that he has my coffee mug that I hastily abandoned and is pouring coffee onto the floor…that still has Cheerios on it.

10:20 a.m. – Mopping coffee and Cheerios means I don’t notice him climb onto a chair and teeter.  I pick him up and start to tell him that he shouldn’t stand on chairs but he arches his back suddenly and head-butts me in the mouth.  And this is where the hysterical crying starts…from me.

10:30 a.m. – Small Boy can’t tell the difference between crying and laughing, so he attempts to join in the hilarity by pointing and laughing loudly, which makes me cry harder.  I sit on the floor and sob.  Small Boy, laughing, toddles into my bedroom and starts opening and slamming the door shut.

11 a.m. – I pull myself together and try to read him a book.  He’s not interested.  I build him a couch cushion fort, but he jumps on it suddenly, falling and bumping his head.  Now we’re both crying.

11:30 a.m. – In order to make his lunch without further disaster, I strap him into his high chair with a bib and half of an avocado, which he crams into his mouth and then spits out.  For some reason ALL of his sippy cups are missing, so I give him a small glass of milk, which I know he is capable of drinking without spilling because I’ve seen him do it for months now.  First he blows bubbles, then he spits it down the front of his shirt, then he slowly pours the rest down his pants.

12:00 p.m. – Repeat of the fight to wash his face and change his diaper.

12:30 p.m. – Put him in bed.  Write a blog post.  Drink a cup of tea and wish it was a cocktail instead.  I survey my house.  There are still Cheerios on the floor.  Now there are animal cracker crumbs all around and inside my purse.  He has smeared avocado on my shirt and I have a fat lip from where I was head-butted.  Toys have been flung all over the play area and there is a wrecked couch fort in the living room.  Mount laundry sits in the corner waiting to be folded, none of the beds are made, I haven’t had a shower.  I have 2.5 hours of Small Boy’s nap time to get everything done, except today is a nap-strike day, so instead I will have to do the minimum while he screams in his crib.

Huzzybee works into the evenings and weekends right now, so a version of this happens to me EVERY DAY.  Was this day a little worse?  Yes.  Could some of these disasters been avoided?  Absolutely.  If I had washed the dishes the night before instead of spending time talking with my husband, who I never see any more, my day would have gone smoother.  If I had not lost the cupboard lock for the pantry a LOT of Cheerios would still be inside their box.  My point is, girls, ladies…don’t rush into having children.  Go have fun – there will be plenty of time for endless poopy diapers and toddler tantrums when you are in your mid-30s.

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