Somehow we are expected to feed, bathe, clothe, read a story, sing sweet lullabies to our kid or kids and then *poof* they are asleep and we place their sweet little sleeping selves into the crib and dust ourselves off and say that wasn't so bad.
If this is how it goes for you. Kudos to you.
For me - Yeah, right.
Instead I pray dinner is finished by five. Dang crockpot, hurry up and cook it.
I remind him to eat and quit for Pete's sake playing with his food. No don't put it in your hair. I was hoping I wouldn't have to bathe you, but thanks, now I do.
I have to unload and load the dishwasher while he whines incessanty that he wants to get out of the highchair.
And just when I think, good he ate all his food, no food on the highchair table. I pick him up and...voila there it is! Everything I thought he was eating was really stashed underneath him.
I strip him down to his diaper, put him on the floor and point to Murphy, our cat, he takes off running to terrorize her and I think hey this is an excellent opportunity to sweep up all the food and clean the highchair for the tenth time today. But, really I'm used to it. I might as well glue the broom and the broom tray to my hands and stick clorox wipes in my back pocket for easy access.
And when I finally locate my little one to bathe him he has somehow managed to rip through the house like a tornado leaving remnants of books, pots and brooms and remotes in his path.
That's okay, I like picking things up that I just picked up, ten minutes ago.
Then I get the bath water going and he waits impatiently next to the tub, trying to hurl his body over the bath wall.
And just before I lower him into the bath I step right into...what is that? oh, pee. Yep couldn't hold it, so he just peed right there next to the bath tub. Great. :)
And so I bathe him. Reminding him sixteen thousand times that this is not the swimming pool. Standing and kicking water into the air is not acceptable. But he won't listen and I'm soaked.
Then I dry him off and he takes off to his room and I struggle to put a diaper on him, maybe lotion, some pjs. All while he squeals and kicks and laughs. I think, ten more minutes of this madness, just ten more minutes.
I grab a book and sit back in the rocking chair with him. A short books with a few sentences. I point to things, he points to things and then he tries to rip a page out and I remind him I was reading that page, we need it or we won't know what happens. I'm kidding, how many times have we read this book, yep a billion jillion times, we all know that the letters get back up the coconut tree in chicka chicka boom boom.
Then he starts to say "yea!" and throws him arms up in the air. And then he thinks its so funny, and admitly I do too, so he does it over and over again. Then I realize to heck with the story, we'll try again tomorrow.
Then I rock him, but lets be honest, he's too old for all that, and he just stares at me in the dark blinking and giggling.
So I say off to bed with you, Ham, and my exhausted self lowers him into the bed still wide awake, still hanging on for a last hoorah.
I creep out of his room and close the door to a crack behind me.
And a few minutes later I peep back in and see this:
And I think not bad, I give myself an 8 in the bedtime Olympics.
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