Before I had kids I knew just the right amount about bodily functions – far, far . . . far less than I know now.
Before I had kids virtually every single aspect of my life was easier, faster, less complicated . . . and way, way less rewarding.
Sometimes it feels like banging your head against a wall (a wall covered in glass shards honed to fine points dipped in lemon juice, heated to 475 degrees and covered with stinging insects), and sometimes all you want to do is call it quits, buy a one-way ticket to Grenada to live out the rest of your days happily picking fruit and selling earrings to tourists on the beach . . . but then you’re away from them.
You’re away from them for just a few minutes or a few hours and it hits you smack in the face that you wouldn’t trade one second of it for anything in the whole damn world.
Before I had kids I thought that children should eat well-rounded, balanced meals. I did not realize that a three year old eating anything is in itself a victory.
Four french fries dipped in 8 tablespoons of ketchup? Victory. Peanut butter toast dipped in ketchup? Victory. Ketchup with a spoon? You’d better believe it . . . that’s a bloody victory and don’t ever let anybody tell you different.