I have a lot of days when all I can do is wait for them to end. Especially recently, with my son being every bit a two and a half year old boy, from tantrums and all the “no”s and pushing his sister to roaring at the top of his lungs (YOARRRR!!!! Usually directly at the baby or the dog, neither of whom are ever amused) and using his maraca to drum violently on his guitar while he yell-sings the ABCs. My emotions pretty much remain somewhere on the spectrum between on edge and at my limit, from the moment I wake up until the moment my kids go to sleep.
I know this is a temporary phase, that someday in the future my monster child will be enjoyable again, that I won’t spend the rest of my days saying “Leave her alone!” and asking “What did you do to her?” and taxiing him to and from timeout. And while it’s comforting to know that this phase won’t last long, I have this little voice in my head telling me, “Enjoy this phase, because it won’t last long.”
Last night I was feeding Mabel before bed while Shook was out on the front porch watching Marshall mow the lawn. He had taken a pair of those Velcro gloves you use with a tennis ball (remember those? They’re like ping-pong paddles with Velcro on them and you “catch” the tennis ball with the Velcro) and put them on his feet like skates. He was “skating” on the front porch yelling “Mine okay! Mine okay Daddy! Mine okay Dad!” because he kept slipping. And I thought to myself, “I want to remember this.”
I don’t want to let this time pass me by, without stopping to dwell on how sweet it is. Yes, my toddler drives me up the wall most days, but he also cracks me up, makes me smile, and lets me hug and kiss him. Yes, my eight month old is crawling now, which seals my fate in regards to being productive while they are both awake, but every day a new part of her little personality shines through, and it’s so fun watching her follow us around everywhere.
I want to remember this time with littles as an exhausting, stressful, amazing time in the life of our family. I want to be present every day, in every moment, even when many of them seem terrible. I don’t want to spend my days wishing my kids were older so my job would be easier. I want to take it all in, the good and the bad, because I know this time will be over way too soon.
Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.
The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.
Author: Ruth Hulburt Hamilton