Don't get me wrong, children are wonderful little creations. They teach us lessons about loving freely, living with abandon, and exploring everything with a sense of wonder. But... they are exhausting. They drain energy like sending a picture drains a cellphone battery - you thought you had four bars, and next thing you know you have no bars and it's blinking red, empty.
We agreed to babysit a three year old boy for some friends of friends, and none of us were really prepared for it. As four adults living in a calm, do whatever, make-your-own-routine world, we were suddenly made aware of how un-child friendly our household was. Bed time? We go to sleep when we wanna. Meals? Except for dinner, it's serve yourself. We realized that we couldn't just leave scissors on the table or knives on the counter, and the first time we sat down to eat, he was like, "I need to wash my hands!" Who thinks up all this stuff?
My mother is not used to boys. We girls read books and crocheted and danced around the house. This kid stomps and clangs and shouts and touches everything. Poor Lily, who has been used to a relatively laid back life style, can't settle down because there are little feet constantly flying around and, "Doggy come here!" "Doggy go away!" "DOGGY WON'T PLAY WITH ME!" Sorry kid, she is not interested in being chased around the house and tied up with yarn. I brought her up to my room this morning, and she sat and chewed holes in her blanket. It's like an autistic kid stemming - she does it when she's stressed, and there is no way to stop her.
I still have an incredibly stuffed up stuffy head and feel like a rhino kicked me between the eyes. I can't be more than five feet away from a Kleenex box, and these have become my new best friends:
Hopefully I can kick this back to where it came from. Head colds = self loathing.