Mancub is approaching his second birthday. Gone are the days of watching him scoot his little diapered butt across the floor because he doesn't want to crawl or walk. Now he runs everywhere, especially away from whatever it is you want him to do. Gone are the hours of watching him sit in one place and play contentedly with his blocks. Now he is only still while he's asleep. Gone is the always smiling, kiss giving, sweet sweet little boy who made my heart swell with happiness and pride. Now I have a hard headed, contrary, deliberately disobedient toddler who thought it would be fun to start the Terrible Two's at 16 months old. My god how I love him, even when I want to find a military pre-school for him. I love him oh-so-very-much!
Lately, I find myself missing the silly baby things he used to do, like finding hours of amusement watching his toes, and longing for another baby in the house. I suppose part of it is the impending arrival of my beautiful niece. Trust me, she will be beautiful. Or maybe it's that I have several friends who are also expecting babies in the coming year, whatever it is I have been dreaming about babies and trying to convince myself that we could do it. SHOULD do it. We would love another baby in the house. And yet...if I stand still, something will remind me that I should be grateful for the things I have now, and stop worrying about the things I don't. Something like...
Last week, I was sitting on my bed while my husband gave Mancub his bath. I was tooling around the Internet, minding my own business waiting for them to finish up when I heard some of the strangest sounds imaginable coming from the bathroom. It was a cross between a shriek of horror and groan of disgust. A hybrid of a bark of laughter and a gurgle of vomit. I rushed into the bathroom thinking my husband was having a heart attack (why that popped into my head I don't know) but stopped short when I found my husband holding a soaking wet Mancub under on arm, and trying not vomit while herding a floating turd toward the drain. Yes, we had a floater in the tub, the first time ever and it happened on my husband's watch.
After the initial 'ZOMG I'm gonna hurl' of it passed I couldn't help but laugh at the look on my sweet husband's suddenly green face. And laugh I did. And laugh, and laugh, and laugh. And when I finally caught my breath, I laughed some more. And in that instant I remembered that we had plenty of 'baby' left in Mancub. But mostly I was just really glad it happened on my husband's watch. It wasn't me it happened to, therefore, it was funny dammit! It's the little things that make life worth living, yo.
The Open Door
1 month ago