My mom has always told me, jokingly, that if she knew how "easy" raising a boy would have been versus a girl, she would have traded my sister and me in a long time ago. Maybe one boy is a whole different ball game but these days, raising two little boys is hard. It's fun and entertaining, but it's hard. However, I wouldn't trade it for anything.
I live a life of burp and fart jokes. I live a life where the words booger and bum are used as often as the word and. I life a life of wrestling and running and dancing and screaming. A life of scrapes and bruised heads - a life of wild animals and too many documentaries about predators (of the sea, the sky, the savannah and ancient times.)
I also live a life of gigantic hugs, the kind that knock you over. I live a life of joy and humor at crazy knock-knock jokes. I live a life where the mundane is exciting. I life a life where, when I ask my two year old what planet he lives on, he tells me planet belly button.
Last night, after dinner it felt like I had a glimpse of what is to come and let me tell you, it was awesome. I was at the kitchen table working on a project. The boys were taking turns dancing in the living room and helping me - requesting songs for their dad, the DJ to play. How many four year olds ask for "bust a move?" Mine does. At some point the dancing stopped and Elliott joined me at the table, building things with my scraps of paper and Wyatt was sitting on the counter playing DJ with his dad. We were laughing and talking about nothing. It was like I had a 17 year old and a 15 year old in my house telling me about school and working on their history homework - not two little squirts waiting to dance to beyonce's "single ladies" sung by the chipmunks because hey, that's funny.
Sometimes I am so anxious to get on with things, to move ahead, to forge on. I'm ready for school and homework, organized sports and science fairs. Then I stop and realize woah - that's too fast. Life is too fast. I like the cuddly wuddly monsters and want them to sit on my lap forever.
Until they fart on me. Then, they can find their own seats.
In a different room.
And bring me a can of air freshener because yes, it is that bad.