Toddlerhood? I totally dig it.
The silly, the screaming, the toddles, the tantrums, the cuddles & the crazies. This morning, Harrison managed to simultaneously step on my kidneys & punch me in the left eye. It’s enough to make your brain hemorrhage & I was all, “THIS IS AWESOME.” It’s not for everyone, but for me? It’s my groove.
(& at this point, I would like to personally thank my older brothers for years of cage fighting training, without which I might never be prepared to be the mother of a boy toddler.)
I’m beginning to think that it all breaks down into two classes of people: those that like newborns & those that like toddlers.
Some people are newborn-phase lovers & while I respect that, I certainly cannot get behind it. Yeah, the snuggles are sweet & when they’re sleeping all hot & bundled on your chest with little baby snuffles, it is magic. But they lay there like a lump & puke on you, all ungrateful & stuff. A few weeks ago, I met my friend Amy‘s new baby girl, Charlotte. Charlotte is gorgeous & yummy & smells beautiful & oh my heavens, is she the dream baby. Amy did good work with that one. I held her tiny 8 lbs in my arms, marveled at the ruffles on her butt, & fell totally in love with that little girl…but felt no urge to return to that stage & I’m looking at Amy like “She’s darling, but what does she do?!”
I’m pretty sure this proves what a dick I really am. But while I love to give my time & service & love, I like to get a little in return. Ali & I were talking about this over lunch the other day & she said that if she had my kind of experience with an inconsolable screaming newborn, she’d probably feel the same way. But really, I think I’m just shallow & selfish.
Toddlers? You give them a kiss & sure, there’s a 50% chance you’re going to get smacked in the face, but there’s also a 50% chance that he’ll lean in & slobber all over your cheek in blessed 15-month-old love. Last night, I fixed Harrison some raviolis. Nate was out in the garage & Harry toddled over to the door, stuck his hand in the catdoor & called, “Da? Da? Da??” & my heart exploded all over the raviolis until there was no need for sauce. Or this morning, we sat on the floor & played with the old school Little People barn & I handed him the cow & he put the cow in the freakin’ barn & shut the door. Because the cow belongs in the barn & I’m like, “HOLY CRAP, you are the smartest kid alive!”
Infants can’t do that stuff. All they do is drool.
Granted, being the mom of a toddler is aging me quickly. I’m pretty sure that my blood pressure has risen to a solid 140/90 (not really) & that my heart can only take a few more plunges off the couch before it finally says “eff this noise, I’m outta here!” A trip to Target without a meltdown in the Gerber aisle is a victory that only the Spartans & other mothers may fully understand. & right now, Harrison is in this non-verbal stage of life where he knows what he wants but cannot communicate it well & that is frustrating for all of us, which leads to a little face sobbing up at me while I ask in exasperation, “WHAT DO YOU WANT?! Milk? Monkey? Outside?” & he’s just shaking his head “no no no.”
But still? I dig it.
Look at us, lovingly looking on while the toddler contemplates the best way to climb the wall & give his parents a heart attack. oh, bliss!
p.s. all pictures taken in November by my dripping-with-talent friend, Jenny. but not Triplet Jenny.