Sunday, February 3, 2019

by - 7:26 AM

Yeah, so my toddler is single-handedly dangling me over a lake of fire at Camp Loseyashit. 

Seriously though, we are both in a place where we are learning our boundaries. He's here to learn what'll happen if he does the thing I tell him not to over and over, and I'm learning how many hours I can take of it before I start crying.

He's actually just really a sweet kiddo and so it's tough to be upset with him when he's standing on the  counter yelling (for real though) "lub you mama! Lub you mama!" Until he tips a full box of cereal on the kitchen floor and takes off while I consider just eating it, because A.) I'm kind of hungry and B.) I'm too tired to clean it up. No need though - he invites the dogs, George May comes rippin' in the kitchen with his breaks off and my baby proudly proclaims "Duke feed May-May!"

That's not when I start crying though. Close, but not quite. I lose my shit when starts pounding his into my carpet. Stay with me here.

A couple mornings ago, I'm being a person and getting ready for work. Duke pops out of bed and his ability to scale the cabinets and climb on top of my fridge just run me a little too scared to trust him unsupervised while I take a shower, so I do the normal thing: pop a baby gate in his bedroom door and say "yell for your dad if you need anything." 

When I came back, he was naked, which is ominous, but he was also holding a small wooden toy hammer. "Hey mom, poop," he says casually, and I'm like, "uh huh..." but my eyeballs start racing around in their sockets like a crazy person looking for it, because he doesn't make announcements about poop without some action to back it up. Which is a good quality, I guess. 

I find it in the corner, smashed into flat penny sized portions and ground right into the carpet. "Jesus," I say telepathically, "if you can hear me, please drop a spot cleaner and a straight-jacket from the sky." He doesn't hear me, so I do what moms do. I clean it up, carry on, and have another cup of coffee. And also take a double dose of birth control. 

And if my heavenly father isn't listening, well I can make my baby's father. We marched right in and let Ryan take over. God bless him.


Happy Sunday, you guys. Here's to a new week and lots of mimosas. 

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