When Kendall, my first, started the climb-all-the-things-attempt-death stage of toddlerhood, I simply felt doomed. Like, I made it through colic and sleepless nights, and now THIS? WILL I EVER BE SANE AGAIN?
I foolishly thought that my 2nd baby Leyna would give me less cause to panic because she’s a girl, which, obviously, is dumb. And I was proven wrong.
I think by the time you have a 3rd baby it’s not so much that you’re a pro at parenting, but just that less shocks you. And scares you.
So when Lowell started pushing chairs around the kitchen and scaling the table and the back of the couch, it wasn’t like I was like, “Oh cool. I know how to handle this.”
More like I was like, “Oh great. Yup. Right on time. Oof… did he just… ahhhh, yup. That’s going to leave a mark. Shake it off, buddy!”
And then we knocked all the chairs over. Like this.