Before I had a two-year-old I thought, geez what a bad tag to brand your precious little bundle.
Now I think the term should be "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad two." That's much more fitting for my precious little bundle.
Some kids are mellow, quiet and shy and do what mommy asks of them. They play in their room quietly without making a mess, pick up their toys, and stop when mom says stop.
Other children, like mine, get into absolutely everything and cannot do a single thing without coming close to bringing the house down.
I turn my back for two seconds and Prestyn chews and swallows three pieces of gum she dug out of my purse, opens the fridge and gets some chocolate syrup to accompany the gum in her belly, then colors the side of our house with sidewalk chalk. "Really?" you might ask. Yes, really, all in a matter of minutes.
How am I supposed to fold the laundry and do the dishes when I can't keep her out of trouble for two seconds? If you've ever visited the Nelson abode you now know why its appearance is always slightly lacking.
Last week, she came in from playing in the yard to ask me, "Momma, what's this." To my un-astonishment, I see her holding a moldy dog turd in her bare hand.
She knew very well what it was.
Some days I think my hair could very well turn gray and fall out, at the same time. Then I wonder what we were thinking when we decided to do it all again.
I hope that this time around I get a child with blonde or brown hair, as opposed to fiery red, with my slightly more mellow temperament, instead of my husband's crazy, off-the-wall attitude. (I'm sure I was no angel at this age, but I know for a fact that Lars was a little devil.)
We shall see, we shall see. Keep your fingers crossed for me, my sanity, and my house.
"Trust me mom, I don't need pants. There's only
a little bit of snow left. The turds will keep me warm."
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