So….what happens when a child turns 18 months? Something magical, I suppose. It’s truly amazing. You put your 17 month and 30 day old child to bed one night, easily, following your little routine. The go down peacefully, as always. They wake up at 5 AM THE NEXT DAY and the fun begins.
After screaming and pouting for milk (apparently it takes too long to pour), your now-18-month-old child begins destroying every inch of your house. You give them crayons. Mistake. You send them outside. What happened to the pot of salad greens growing next to the door? Only they know. You stupidly mop the floor while they are outside, then they fling BUCKETS of wet sand into the house from their tiny toddler-sized Crocs. It’s magical how sand grows in volume when flung.
You go through your naptime routine, only to be met with screams and tears of protest. You get a two hour break (if lucky). You are torn away from your peaceful moment (of course, spent doing the house chores you couldn’t do earlier) by raucous laughter and loud screams of “BOW! BOW! BOW!!!!” (translation: bounce, bounce, bounce) and you can hear the crib nearly falling apart. You walk in, to be greeted with a fistful of removed diaper shoved in your face and your child saying “EEEEEW! EEEEEW!”
You change pee-covered child, bedsheets, and blankies while trying to contain yourself from simultaneously laughing and crying.
You go watch Elmo. A little more time to breathe before child wants to remove all of your sewing supplies and make a large pile of carefully sorted fabric.
You go to the store. Also a mistake. Child wants to tear things open, and when apprehended, she throws a total fit. Screaming, tears, limp body. You act like it isn’t happening and leave rather quickly after buying torn items.
You go home and decide it’s not worth it to try and make dinner before Dad returns from work. So you sit outside in the grass and fling sand with child, because your brain allows you no room for advanced thought processes.
Dad comes home and stares blankly at day recap. He will find out this weekend what she’s up to.
Bedtime is also met with screams of protest, tears, and hysteria. After piling books, blankies, new baby doll, and pillow in with child, and Motrin for baby and mommy, you both collapse.
You think about how it’s all worth it and how much you love her.
You think about how she plays with that baby doll, and the only reason she knows how to play mommy is because she is watching you and wanting to be like you.
Did I mention my (sans-Abi) road trip coming up next weekend?