I would wager that someone tells me that I am going to miss “these days” on average three to four times a week. My kids could be laying on the supermarket floor, screaming their bloody heads off, snot dripping from their button noses and someone will waltz up to me and pat my arm.
“Soon enough you are going to miss this.” Then they walk away.
I know they are right. The twins are about to be three and my nine year old is already tweening out. I already miss so much.
Like when a new baby is fast asleep and you pick them up. Their little booties stick out and it’s the cutest thing ever. My ovaries ache just thinking about it.
Or the smell of a new baby’s fuzzy head. It is addicting, crack-level addicting.
What about their gummy, toothless smiles, nothing sweeter.
Oh and then there is the way they curl up into your body and let their dead weight settle on your chest.
Those days are already gone.
The pacifiers are gone.
The cribs are gone.
Even the diapers are on their way out.
There will be so much to miss.
There is also a lot that I will not miss. I don’t care how many random, supermarket grannies try and convince me otherwise, there are some parts of parenting that can quite frankly go to hell.
Let’ start with the car seats. Nothing to miss there! They are large, cumbersome, five point pains in the ass. The year the twins were born my middle child was still in her car seat and my oldest in a was in a booster. Every single time we left the house I strapped all three kids into their seats and double checked the oldest’s buckling job. I won’t miss crawling through the car to get everyone buckled, sweating my ass off before we ever leave the garage.
I will not long for the days of cleaning puke out of each and every car seat crevice. If you have ever had to pick curdled chunks of cheese out of your kid’s car seat with a tooth pick then you get it. I won’t miss having to remove seats and reposition them in other vehicles and I won’t miss pulling the tightening straps so hard that my fingers stung. Screw you car seats. After the twins turn five we are breaking up…for good this time. I plan on recreating the beating of the office printer scene from the movie Office Space with the last of the car seats. You are all invited to come watch and part take.
I won’t miss dressing these kids. Sure I will miss picking cute outfits out and making them wear whatever I choose for them, but I won’t miss the actual dressing component. No more pinning the kids to the floor in an attempt to shove a shirt over their little blonde heads! No more considering duck-taping their socks on. Why do kids hate socks so much anyways? Just leave them alone God dammit! Never will I long for the days of convincing them that their tights are not in fact “broken.” Someday they will put their own shoes on as well as their hats and coats. Oh how I do look forward to closing down the McCarthy Dressing Assembly Line for good. I’m done kids. Bye.
You will not in a million years find me crying a river over the extinction of babble. The twins can now articulate their needs verbally and that feels amazing. Sure I will long for their teeny, tiny high pitched voices, but not the lost in translation phase that comes along with that.
Why are you screaming?
What is it you are saying?
Do you want a cookie? A pony? A Xanax?
Please just tell me for the love of Pete!
Trying to decode a gaggle of toddlers is exhausting work and I am about ready to turn that punch card in. This mom is clocking out. Now let’s discuss your latest tantrum in this newfound English language of yours kids!
I won’t miss their television shows either. Bye Caillou, burn in hell you bald demon. See ya Max and Ruby! Peace out Peppa and George. These shows have collectively lowered my IQ considerably and I am ready to take those points back. CNN and Charlie Rose here I come! I recognize that we have some time before this chapter fully closes, considering the twins are not even three, but if my calculations are correct I think I am under the 1000 day mark. 1000 more days of crap T.V. and then I can waste away watching House Hunters and Property Brothers until I die.
My chest gets tight just thinking about not having my baby girls curl up to me in our cozy, king-sized bed. I cherish those snuggles because I do know that I will miss them dearly. Curling up with your tiny human is basically heaven on Earth. The whole hullabaloo of actually getting them to sleep though…that is actually hell on earth. It is hell every single freaking night and I won’t miss that part. I won’t miss trudging from bedroom to bedroom begging my children to lay down and sleep. I won’t miss feeling horrible and guilty over losing my mind with them because it is now nearly 10 pm and I am so tired and gross and still have a million things to do before I get to shower. I won’t miss being kicked in the face all night long or sleeping at the foot of the bed like a dog because all four girls have supplanted me and are sleeping in my spot like angry ningas. While we are on the sleeping (or lack there of) subject, I’ll let you in on another dirty little mommy secret. I won’t miss pee soaked diapers two inches from my face at night, nor will I regret the day that a 6 a.m. wake up call doesn’t roll around. The bedtime bonanza blows.
So there. I can love my children all the way to the ends of the Earth and still admit to myself (and the world) that there are fleeting components that can basically just buzz off.