Happy holidays from Before I had Kids!
See you next week . . . ish
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Category Archives: Toddlers
I’m not proofreading this post – it grosses me out.
Our son is at that magical, charming, endearing age where he is not yet old enough to be potty trained, but is plenty old enough to prefer not to hang out with a diaper full of his own filth.
His latest “hinting that he wants to be changed” technique?
Sticking his hand in his diaper, pulling it out and holding it up as if to say “see? I need to be changed, like FOR REAL!”
(Yes, that was the non-graphic version. You’re welcome.)
Now, I’m sure some parents will tell you “oh, it’s not disgusting, it’s just a part of being a parent – I really don’t mind, because he’s just such a little miracle and I’m just oh so very blessed that scraping poop off of 4 square feet of baby parts is really not a chore, it’s just a different kind of blessing.”
Those people are known as alcoholics.
In reality, this sort of thing is disgusting on a level that non-parents cannot possibly understand.
Oh no, not in that condescending “OMG you’re not a parent you COULDN’T POSSIBLY UNDERSTAND” sort of way. No no, I know that non-parents could not understand this because if they did . . . if explosive diarrhea was really covered in the “So You Want to Procreate” brochure . . . nobody would ever do it.
No children would be created.
This holiday season’s craze wouldn’t be the Furbee or Tickle-Me Elmo, it would be Mass Vasectomies.
You really want to fuel the abstinence movement? Forget fear of Hell . . . bring the fear of poo-smearing toddler into the mix and that whole unwanted teen pregnancy thing? Like, totally solved.
Yes, I DO Think Barbie Needs Some New Dresses
Before I had kids, I truly believed that there was no way I could be out-smarted by a three year old.
Now, on pretty much a daily basis, I am out-smarted, out-manouvered, out-manipulated and out-witted by one.
Her powers for persuasive argument are such that she will either become the world’s greatest lawyer or some sort of evil power-hungry magnate whose plans for world domination can only be stopped by James Bond.
(I’m still wrestling with which I’d prefer.)
For now though? She just gets lots and lots of cookies because her rationalizations are JUST THAT GOOD.
I’m POWERLESS against them.
I still win at soccer every time, though.
Pffft, she kicks like a three year old.
Parenthood = Psychosis
Before I had kids I never really knew what it was to be torn.
Our daughter is three years old. Which for those of you who are not native English speakers, can loosely be translated as “evil.”
She yells. She screams. She talks back. She doesn’t sleep. (Therefore we don’t sleep).
So she’s at a sleepover at Grandma’s tonight so that her parents are able to retain their status as Non-Homicidal.
It’s been a torturous week, with her pushing us at every turn. It was a godsend that we were able to get just one night of peace.
And yet . . .
She’s been gone an hour and . . .
I MISS HER VERY, VERY MUCH!
At Least They’re Not Wrapped
Before I had kids, I didn’t have the privilege of nearly-constant surprises.
Surprises that used to not be broken . . . surprises that have now permanently stained . . . surprises that should have been flushed.
I sort of miss not having surprises.
Just close your eyes and call it tomato soup.
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.
Less satisfying with chips, too
Before I had kids I did not understand that reasoning with a three year old is approximately as productive and rewarding as reasoning with salsa.
