Clinica Sierra Vista WIC

Humor@Home: This is the Best Age


Thank Goodness I Survived the Baby Years


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My kids are in the living room acting out “The Phantom of the Opera” right now. Ashley is Christine and is dressed in a white hoodie, white leggings, and white socks. Samantha is the Phantom, and she is wearing black leggings, a black top, and… white socks. She couldn’t find her black socks. I offered to help her look.  She said, “Nah. I think white is less expected, so it’s better this way after all.”

They have rolled up the living room rug and are standing on it like it’s a boat. Samantha is using her stick horse as one of those things you push a boat along with. Ashley is sitting in front of her. Singing.

They know all the words to every song.

So I’m thinking if I could just figure out how to make their spelling words into a song. Something like “e-s-p-e-c-i-a-l-l-y” to the tune of “Masquerade.” (Hmm. Doesn’t quite fit.  Must keep brainstorming.)

“All right, time to go outside to play,” I announce, because I notice Ashley eyeing the chandelier, and I worry she’s thinking up a way to make it fall.

Outside, they become astronauts, excavating rocks in the Martian soil (AKA our front yard).  They are wearing polka-dotted bike helmets (that is, space helmets) and digging with hammers because, well, hammers are what they could find.  They bring me every rock for inspection. I am supposed to keep these rocks, not toss them back into the dirt when the kids aren’t looking.

When they were babies, and I was barely maintaining sanity (OK, let’s be honest—I was not at all maintaining sanity), and people would tell me, “You’ll miss these years,” I would try to force myself to appreciate that vomit all over my car. And screaming and crying for inexplicable reasons. And the whining. And the temper tantrums. And the looking for a place to nurse in public. And having to tell strangers, “No, she is a girl.” (Because, apparently, bald babies look like boys regardless of how many pink bows they are wearing). And the climbing on furniture in doctors’ offices’ waiting rooms. And out of grocery shopping carts.

 

Uh. Nope. I don’t miss any of it. When I look back at pictures and videos, I think, “Oh, wow, they were sure cute!” But I do NOT think, “Oh, man, I wish I could go back to not sleeping at night and carrying a 20-pound baby on my hip while holding the hand of a 3-year old and dragging a diaper bag on my shoulder while attempting to push a cart neither child would have anything to do with and navigate parking lot traffic as I hurdle the obstacles between Trader Joe’s front door and my car. Never mind the joy of trying to figure out what to get in the car first—the baby, the toddler, or the groceries. And then averting my eyes from the nasty, judgmental looks from passersby if I could not figure out how to get the cart back to the cart return area now that my children were already buckled up.”

Nope. You can have your babies. The only thing I miss about my kids being babies are--

    1. Naps

    2. … Well, actually, that’s it: naps. I was about to say the cute baby clothes, but on second thought, all those clothes ended up with burp stains.

My kids are actually fun now. I don’t understand them. I can’t relate to them; they are so different than I am. But, man, they are fun.

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Tags: Featured Story, Infant & Baby, Maternity, Parenting, Preschool


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