- The majority of my time in life right now is spent in an alternate universe where times speeds by with lightening quickness, sleep is hard to come by, and someone always needs to be held or fed. It’s a place without reason, where come-a-parts or hissy fits are the norm. In this land lost in time, where adult conversation is a rarity, obtained only briefly by phone, but usually halted by tiny people vying for your attention, and risking life and limb to attain it, tears can fall quickly and easily, but conversely they can also be replaced in a mere moment by lunatic laughter over a well-placed, comedic, yet absurdly embarrassing antic. The queen of this planet of impressionable minds is none other than myself, but my monarchy is often challenged by a rioting three year old who desires to overthrow the crown. She has a mindset of how the kingdom should be run, and not surprisingly, her system would serve to benefit herself above all others. This is the mindset of a three year old. Me, me, me.
- Chloe, the three year old in question, begins her struggle for power the moment her eyes open. As she pads into the living room, not being the first to wake, she is confronted with her baby sister taking up residence in her favored spot, my lap. She will come quickly to my side, and then the epic battle for my affections will commence. The tiny one (little sister), will hold her own as best as she is able, and I passively endure a horde of small people crawling all over my person, shoving each other from the warmest section of my lap. Eventually the craving of coffee will lure me to the kitchen, kicking off packs of snipping children as I attempt to leave the couch and the den of cartoon lunacy in search of caffeine. The mighty three year old sees this as her chance to place requests for gifts of milk and breakfast cereals, a difficult ordeal before coffee goodness is consumed and effectively lubricates the joints and mind of mommy. Not wishing to be outdone, a petite crawler will escape the toy jungle in search of her mommy’s milk. She is like a tiny lion on the hunt, with her only thought being food, and obtaining it at any cost.
- Even after coffee, the remainder of the day in this strange world of tiny vampires is simply a repeat of itself, like a twisted version of the movie Groundhog Day. The baby needs rocking, and as she drains all fluid, energy, and negative calories from the queen, the door keeps opening, and a little, blond head appears. She’s naked, bringing to mind the natural question, where did her clothes go?! She smiles sweetly, but the ulterior motives of waking the sleeping babe practically drip from her asinine requests for snacks and channel changing on the television. She is probably smiling so big with the sweet memories of well placed kicks to the baby hours earlier, spurred forth by jealous spats over previously discarded toys given importance once coveted by another. Naps, lunch, play, laundry, snacks, play, nap, dishes (simply so there can be something to place the next meal upon), play, hugs, “I love you’s” (which somehow she magically places to make it all okay), snacks, milk, milk, milk. As she tugs at my garment, I look down, and she claims, “You’re my best friend Mommy!” I fight the urge to cry (hormones are never the same, are they?!), and feel happiness over this revelation, especially after the sulking trip to her chambers, shambling there to recluse in dramatic sadness after correction was given for pushing her sister in the face, a punishment she doled out for touching the precious iPad. We dance in the kitchen, all three ladies of the castle, balancing on our toes, and spinning to the music, soaking in smiles and tinkling, baby laughter. Punishments are quick and often, correction to offset the actions of a jealous child, but the celebration and giggles always return. The clock will soon chime, signaling baths and bedtime approaching, an end to another day swooping in before it’s expected. The quickness of the hours baffles me, reminding me that hours add together into days. Watching as clothes and shoes are outgrown, as crawling becomes walking, words become sentences, and milestones flash by in a blur, I’m confronted with the passing years in this strange, but beautiful land, this place where little people indeed rule in the courts of my heart.
That is all 🙂