The evening routine for our kids seems to be getting longer. As they have got older we are having to introduce new facets to going to sleep to get them to co-operate, and it is starting to reach the breaking point.
Initially the routine was simple:
Feed them dinner, bathe them, dress them, put them down to sleep.
Children are both disgusting and awesome, and so are dads. When you mix dads and toddlers you increase the awesome as well as increasing the disgust. It is a potent and dangerous cocktail, and one that I am abusing to the max.
While A-Rex lies there constantly sharting, Feliciraptor is learning all the skills needed for a starring role in an Adam Sandler film. Much to the chagrin of Mommy-G and assorted relatives one of my daughter’s favourite phrases is now:
It’s just a fart.
Dirty nappies, bottles to wash, uncertain stains to clean. As a parent, I had plenty of those and was happy the day arrived I no longer had to deal with them. The only item of parenting detritus I have conflicting feelings over are the specific items of child paraphernalia I have amassed a copious amount of.
Child artwork.
I have scribblings and paintings aplenty, pasta and food pictures galore. You want glued boxes I got twenty, but who cares, I want more.
I am spending a long time on the stairs, not going up or down but trying to make an angry little man stay on one step. Looking at pictures of him from years past it is scary just how much he has come along from the lump of DNA to a strong-minded 4 year old.
It is in those moments where you are dealing with a screaming child that you realise every moment is just hurtling by. It does not seem all that long ago that we were fighting the same battle with the Feliciraptor.
Viva Ergo Sum 