June 29, 2016
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I lament my children growing older. Even my warrior queen, short of three-months is aging too rapidly. Only yesterday was she barely awake, now expresses preferences to be active, observing our household happenings. My son asserts his increasing desire for independence. It seems too soon he will no longer want me hovering, and perhaps that day is already upon me. But, my humble plea to both, please, don’t hurry your current youth…I’m much too tired for the next step that approaches.
Three-years-old is supposed to be the earliest time for boys to begin their expressed desire to use the toilet like the rest of us. Really? My son is barely over the two-year mark. It’s too soon for him to rip off his soiled diapers onto our carpet. It’s too soon for Little Man to indicate he left a duce in his all-in-one undies for me to clean. I am much to tired and ill prepared to begin the process of toilet training. It was bad enough my son started walking and insisting on feeding himself. The catastrophe left in his wake after those benchmarks will pale in comparison to trails of dung all over the house. My kid is a seriously prolific pooper; I feel blessed if I only change his substantial diaper chips three times a day.
To make matters worse, my daughter isn’t sleeping as much. Sure, her plentiful smiles are breathtaking, but they are sprinkled among strong stipulations to be cuddled. I don’t think I have the energy and general wherewithal to manage a potty training toddler in the midst of a sleep regression and an infant choosing to progress into consciousness in a timely manner. It’s heartbreaking; they just grow up much, much too fast…