Ever had one of those days where you’re not the only one who wakes up on the wrong side of the bed? You’re pretty sure your kid woke up on such the wrong side that it’s possible that he got in a bar fight in Australia while sleeping? (I found Kendall with blood smeared all over his face this morning, crusted in some parts, fresh in others. After freaking out and wiping it away, I discovered all this horror emanated from a few measly scratches on his nose and cheek. From what? I have no fucking idea. I can only guess that said bar fight entailed him standing at one end of his crib, launching himself to the other end, and bouncing backwards, old skool WWF style, smacking his face on a crib rail because he likes to do this. I’ve seen him.)
Ever had one of those days where one minute your kid is safely on the ground, the next he’s scaled the chair and is atop the kitchen table, inches away from pushing a crystal fruit bowl, which never has any fruit in it and always has dog hair in it, off the top of the table to the tile floor below? Then, just minutes after putting him back on the floor and removing the chairs, you turn around to find he has pushed a chair back and is reaching for the table again, except this time he’s not going to make it because the chair is shifting beneath him and you fight back the visions of his cracked head on your white kitchen tile, which you HATE because WHO puts WHITE tile in a kitchen (people with no pets or children, that’s who), as you sprint across the kitchen to save him. Again. And you make it just in time, but right as you’re grabbing him you slip on a giant puddle of water he has intentionally spilled from his sippy cup to make, what appears to be, a mommy booby trap of sorts, and you slice the side of your toe open on what is henceforth called THE TABLE OF DEATH? Ever had one of those days that you’ve single handedly saved your kid’s life three times by 9 am?
Ever had one of those days where you sat in your “room you know not what to do with”, the room with all the big toys, which would be PERFECT if it were padded, had a door, and didn’t have a desk, computer and a drawer full of staples and tacks in it, and felt like just crying? Just stared at all those loud, obnoxious toys that he wants nothing to do with and watched him scale a Little Tykes slide and revel in going down it face first, completely ignoring your “feet first!” pleas?
Ever had one of those days that you looked around your messy, unorganized house, looked in your empty refrigerator and nightmare of a pantry and wondered who the hell ever decided you were fit for the job of mom?
Ever wonder if you could even make it through the day without breaking down and crying and coming quite close to actually doing so when you finally make it to Gymboree, come hell or high water or missed naps, all so the primate who has taken over your sons body can have a safe, soft place to throw himself around, only to discover that he doesn’t want to play at Gymboree? He wants you to hold him. He wants a nap. He doesn’t want to climb the soft cushions and land in a sea of soft balls. You take him home and he doesn’t want to nap, he doesn’t want you to hold him, he wants to fling himself off the ottoman, head first, backwards.
Ever had one of those days where you’re ready for a whole bottle of wine by 1:30? Ever had one of those days?
Kendall is 15 months and 4 days old and has mastered the art of climbing and is one step away from bungee jumping without a rope