There Should Be An Energy Drink Called 6 am Toddler
One thing about spending a weekend babysitting a three-year-old, as opposed to pretty much every weekend without a toddler, is that having a baby around is exhausting. It's so exhausting that there is usually a point late Saturday afternoon when I look at the clock and think: Are you kidding me?! There are still HOW MANY hours left until bedtime??!!
Breaking news from the No-Shit Gazette: Toddlers run you ragged. They pulverize you into dust and keep on keeping on, leaving your sad, tired body behind. While you’re struggling to get out of the chair so you can serve yet another snack, they're running circles around you, loping effortlessly along like a goddamn gazelle while you’re whimpering in their wake.
This isn’t to say we don’t have a wonderful time together because, OMG, that baby is a joy, even when she wakes up at 6 am on a Sunday morning. She always wears a poofy princess dress. We have tea parties, and everyone wears a tiara, Bill included. We polish our finger and toenails. We traipse through Marshalls looking for new poofy princess dresses (in a pinch, a clearance rack communion dress will do because, as I have been told, they look like Cinderella’s wedding gown), and we play at one of the many parks around town.
Later in the evening, she takes a bath in our giant tub, complete with a bucket of mini rubber duckies floating in the bubbles and a lot of screaming DUCKY! DUCKY! After bath time, we build mega-block castles for the Barbies, rearrange the furniture in the dollhouse, and then lay on the bed together and watch the Frozen movie for the frillionth time until our eyelids get very, veeeeerrrryyyy heeeeavvvvvy.
Still, after all that joyful exuberance, there’s something wonderful about knowing she will go home late Sunday afternoon. We wave goodbye and blow kisses as the car drives away. Our house feels empty and woeful, shrouded in an all-good-things-must-come-to-an-end vibe, but there’s also the feeling that I’ve been treading water for 4959574 hours, someone just threw me a life ring and relief is near.
Bill and I collapse, weak and helpless, on the couch. I cannot adequately emphasize how depleted our energy is after 48 hours of that little girl who never stops moving EVER. She buzzes around continuously like a hummingbird loaded on sugar crack water.
Once we recover enough to gather our thoughts, we both say the same silent prayer that grandparents throughout the centuries have said: Please, God, teach me how to siphon off a few ounces of that baby’s go-juice so I can function on her natural energy instead of (insert caffeinated beverage) once and for all.
But God never answers, no matter how earnestly or fervently we plead. All we can do is rest up for her next visit, try to keep pace with her shrimpy little legs, and prepare to have a three-year-old kick both our asses.
In conclusion, It was a fantastic weekend, but I was grateful when it was over and we could S-L-E-E-P.
A tremendous amount of thought went into choosing which Frozen chair to sit in for our mani and pedi. I was told that when you sit in a Frozen Chair to get your nails done, YOU SHOULD BE WEARING A FROZEN DRESS and not a Bluey dress!
Mistake noted.
Making mulch pizza with a friend at the park. Right after this picture was taken, one of them tasted the mulch, and the other needed a few pounds of it removed from her shoes.
Painting a pretty picture for Mama. (You can’t visit our house without making a craft project.)