Last spring, I started to feel really overwhelmed by my life.
It seemed like I could not complete a single task, the house was constantly in shambles, dinner was always late, we could hardly get school work done each day, there was a perpetual pile of waiting-to-be-folded laundry on the couch, I never had time for yard work or any of the fun projects I like to squeeze in, and every night, instead of sitting down to blog after the kids were in bed, I was playing catching catch up from the day.
Post bed time found me cleaning up the kitchen, getting that laundry folded, cleaning the bathroom, looking over schoolwork, hosing the patio down, cleaning a closet, or doing some other task that never got completed during the day.
And I was still behind!
To top it off, I was utterly exhausted by the end of each day.
I couldn't figure it out.
Why had life suddenly gotten so hard?
And why couldn't I maintain our life the way I was just a few months before?
Nothing had changed.
Then one day, Aaron took Davy with him while he ran some errands.
He usually takes the big kids, because Davy is the easy one and I never mind him staying behind.
But all the big kids were happily engaged in something, so Aaron took the little guy.
In that hour Davy was gone, I stopped what I was doing multiple times and asked the kids, "where's the baby?"
When I finally got it in my head that he was gone, and I didn't have to make sure he wasn't off somewhere trying to kill himself, I was amazed at how much I got done and how quickly.
And it hit me.
Something had changed.
Davy was mobile.
I had forgotten how much work a crawler is.
It's all been downhill from there.
He walks now.
This morning he figured out how to climb into the booth in the kitchen.Grrrreat.
As if my life wasn't hard enough already.
Then, of course, he scaled the table next.
The big kids are no help.
They applaud his every new skill.
They can't help it--they're proud of him.
Or they think it's funny.
(As evidenced by William's response in this picture)
Sure, they do their best to protect him, notifying me of his escapades by calling out, "Mommy! Davy's climbing on the coffee table!"
Or, "Mommy! Davy's climbing out the window!" (True story. We have ground level windows in the living room)
Or, "Mommy! Davy's hands are in the toilet and there's pee in there!"
The list goes on.
And I'm kinda over it.
People tell me all the time, "ohhhh, I love that stage. It's so much fun!"
And I want to say, "really? Because I think it's so much work, and I'm pretty tired of chasing him all over creation, and of him climbing into the dishwasher and playing with the knives because I turned my back on him for one second, and you're only saying that because you don't have a toddler, and you know what? Toddlers are pretty much a pain in the butt!"
But instead, I just smile and say, "I know."
Because they are right.
He is so much fun.
We laugh at him all the time.
But he is also a total pain in the butt.
And I can't get anything done.
And it is totally his fault.
I'll see you when Davy turns 3.
PS. How is it that I forgot how much work this stage is? Haven't I done it 3 times already? Oh that's right, now I have 3 other kids to deal with on top of the toddler, and school to teach, and more laundry to do, and baseball practices to go to, and a little toddler who thinks he's 4, 6 or 8 and gets really, really mad when won't let him do the things the big kids are doing.
It is harder now.
I'm not complaining.
And thanks for indulging me.
I keep telling myself this won't last forever.
And sometimes, that's a good thing.
Now where's that baby?