If you're one of those people who is gonna coo and aww over their physical cuteness and use it as an excuse to pardon their erratic behavior, be gone. You are not wanted here.
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| there's mischief behind them there faces |
Look. I have two of the most gorgeous boys to have ever walked the planet (I do. Don't argue with me. You'll lose.). But some days, I would like to put them under a laundry basket and nail it to the floor.
Take for example last Friday morning. Jacob woke up at 6 AM. I didn't have to be up until 6:30. He obviously knew this and planned his escape from bed in advance. I bet before he dozed off the night before, he made a mental note to be my own personal rooster the following morning with a fresh remix of cock-a-doodle-doo. Let there be a day where I have to be up before the sun rises and suddenly the kid doesn't make a peep before 8 AM. Not cool. Anyway, he wakes up earlier than I'd like. No big deal. I can handle it. Let's throw the kid in my bed for some snuggles and a little extra sleep, shall we?
Commence snuggling.
After about 30 seconds, I realized that my shirt was wet. After a little investigative work, I realized Eldest Child had, at some point, decided he was too good for pull-ups and had taken them off. And after said escape from training pants, he decided to save his morning tinkle for his mom...as he was laying right on top of her.
Jesus, be near.
I manage to clean up the little darling and get him re-diapered (let's be honest, pull-ups are diapers disguised as progress) and give him a nice, clean shirt because his own was also soaked with pee. I couldn't find any pants at that exact moment, though. But what did it matter? I was about to put him in the high chair and turn on the tv for some Paw Patrol morning therapy. Plus, who even likes pants? I'm doing him a favor by letting his legs breathe freely.
Commence meltdown.
Apparently, toddlers and pants go together like peanut butter and jelly. That is, when they decide it's fitting. Cause I've seen him drop his drawers on multiple occasions without a second thought but THIS MORNING, my friends, pants were a MUST.
All this before a single sip of coffee. Oy vey.
And don't think he's the only child to grace my complaint list. Oh no. May I turn your attention to the golden child, Silas. Golden child no more. He is officially a full-fledged toddler in his own right.
Forgive me for asking you to sit down while you are in the tub, dear baby boy. While I only wanted to avoid head trauma, I should have been more considerate of your feelings and desires to lick the faucet while standing in shin-deep waters on a soapy/slippery tub floor. How dare I be a party pooper? And I suppose I was wrong for forcing you to sit after you ignored my verbal singsongy request to do so. How was I to know that you would fling yourself into a tantrum and nearly drown yourself to make your point? Shame on me.
This is why I love bedtime. Toddler-free SILENCE. (And Downton Abbey and snacks in bed, but I digress.)
You know, though, why I think toddlers are the biggest of punks?
Because I see so much of myself in the very actions they make that I loathe. They are an extension of me and sometimes, I don't like having to accept that realization.
I pout and whine when I don't get my way (it usually involves food and not getting to go out for dinner). I react harshly when someone (ahem, Brian. Sorry, Brian.) says something I don't want to hear. I forget to be mindful of others. I want what I want when I want it.
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
I think I've written a blog post once on how parenting is absolutely a vehicle for sanctification. It is. In the moments where I want to send my children to Camp Grandparents because they're working my last nerve, God quickly reminds me that He extends grace to me in my own tantrums time and time again. The realization is both overwhelmingly humbling and frustrating. (C'mon, God. Can I just have a pity party for, like, two seconds?)
As far as toddler-hood goes, I have only just begun this game and have a whole lot more innings to play. I hope that during their inevitable charades of toddler terror, I can remember those silent whispers to offer grace and to humble myself. I hope I can be the haven of peace my boys need in a way that Christ has always been for me. Some days I know will be more difficult than swallowing glass. But maybe, if I keep my wits about me and just deal with it, I'll learn they aren't quite all that terrible.
After all. They're just so cute. :)
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| killing me with cute. |
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| and another? so much cute. i'm dead. |
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