Life with a Toddler

I remember this one day when Cheyenne was about 4 months old, getting her ready and taking her out to Target (duh, where else?) and thinking to myself, "Gee whiz, this momma stuff isn't THAT hard (except for the breastfeeding thing, oh that was excruciatingly hard), what's all the fuss about? Yeah, I'm a little sleep deprived, and everything takes so much longer to do now that I have baby to cart around but overall, it's not that bad."  And I honestly felt this way for quite a while.

Me and Shye. In simpler times.

But then, Shye turned 1 and the bottom done dropped right out of my little fairy tale existence.

And now? I get it.
I mean, I really GET it.

The baby girl who was mostly good, sometimes sassy, but always sweet has turned into one of Satan's mini minions. Every night after she falls asleep I check for horns. And then I pray most fervently, "please, oh please let this just be a stage. And PLEASE let it be a short stage."

Heaven help me.

The baby girl who only started walking 6 weeks ago, is now already trying to run away from home. No really. Wherever we are I swear this girl is always plotting her escape route. At home the moment the front door opens she makes a run for it. At the mall she goes straight for the escalators. At the waterpark she makes a beeline for, well, anywhere really, anywhere that is away from me. If she could speak, I'm fairly certain she would be shouting "FREEDOM!!!" all the time. There is no time for trivial things like getting dressed, diaper changes, or eating. Girlfriend has got things to do, places to go, and people to see. And above all else, there must be no hugging. She will not stand for such nonsense. I take full responsibility for this as the hug-hating gene runs on my side of the family.

Baby on the run at Seven Peaks.

The baby girl who used to love to snort and make everyone laugh has turned into a toddler who growls and makes everyone worried. These growls are equal parts cute and frightening. We now call her Baby Monster. And while I think her little growls are still kind of adorable I've noticed that not everybody else feels the same. I've gotten many a raised eyebrow thanks to my Baby Monster.

"Rawr!" It's Baby Monster.

The baby girl that I sometimes worried that I might be ruining with my (so-called) attachment parenting has turned into the most independent, willful, determined child ever. At the ripe old age of 12 going on 13 months she has become so independent that we must never appear to be helping her in any way. Up a step, down a step, around a corner, under a ledge. She has to DO. IT. HERSELF. Even at the waterpark when she kept getting knocked over and falling face first into the water (read: almost drowning) she would NOT let me hold her hand to keep her from falling. And if she does detect any sort of help then she will then fling herself to the ground in the most extreme dramatic fashion.

Screaming because she can't figure out how to get down and she wont let me help her either.

The baby girl who was pretty easy-going and didn't mind being carted around is now a toddler who will now not sit still for anything. She will tolerate riding in a car, stroller, sling, or cart as long as we are in constant motion. Everything must be go, go, GO! Red lights are the bane of my existence. Grocery shopping is basically a grab and dash affair, because things will start to get real ugly on aisle 9 if I dare take longer than 2 seconds to grab a bottle of Ranch. Geesh. And since sitting through church is entirely out of the question Brian and I do a lot of pre-church negotiations, "Ok, if I take her during the first hour, then you take her for the last hour?" or "Honey, what do you say we skip church today and stay home and munch on Doritos instead?"

I kid, I kid.

I would never eat Doritos.

"Why isn't this thing moving?!!!"

So yes, I can most emphatically say now: I get it, this momma stuff is hard.

Go ahead. Have yourself a nice big serving of schadenfreude. I deserve it.