Messy, Messy, Messy

I mentioned to Terry last week that after we have Caleb we should just move right along to baby #3. Of course I might have been delirious at the time. Delirium resulting possibly in my excessive heart burn that threatens to flame up and obliterate my head. Delirium from the thought that we might have to move yet again. Delirium because my Christmas decorations are still out and haunting me and mocking me as each day goes by.

More than likely it was delirium over the mess that just won't end.

My generation seems to be starting a new trend of having children closer together than our parents did. Before I had kids I thought it must be overwhelming to "pop 'em out so quickly." Now I'm thinking it might be overwhelming to NOT.

Micah is a toddler. Synonymous with messy. I remember when I was teaching at Primrose. I had 2 and 3 year olds. I loved each and every one of them. But they were the messiest and gooyest and stickiest bunch of people I ever met. At the end of every day I'd feel the grime covering my body in what felt like 2 or 3 inches. And it never helped to have so many parents be demoralizing without realizing it when they acted shocked that I had a college degree. "Why are you teaching here?" they'd say. Sigh. Don't you want the most educated person possible teaching your budding Einsteins? I always wanted to ask them how they managed to enroll in the school without realizing that every lead teacher had to have a college degree and a certain number of education hours.

What I didn't realize at the time was that in a few years I'd be covered with the same ooey mess, and I'd be just as disgusted, and I wouldn't get even the meager thanks I got as a pre-school teacher. But I would love it one hundred times more.

Micah is my messy kid. And I love him, therefore I will love the mess (this isn't so much a declaration as my own mantra to remind me to look beyond the filth).

So, I believe my statement to Terry about popping out baby #3 (who we have yet to begin even praying about, so who really knows when and if they'll be a 3) was just coming from a place of wanting to move past the messy years as quickly as possible.

Allow me to elaborate...

I'm a list maker. I do it on paper, on the computer, in my head, on the phone to Terry. And so, as I got through my day, I make lists. "I've got to do this, this, this, and this. Clean this, this, this and this. Etc." But my little mess maker has undertaken massive plans to un-do this planning and he interrupts as much as possible.

For example, this morning as I was getting us dressed, fed, and out the door, I quickly handed Micah his standard bowl of oatmeal and ran to my room to finish my hair. Before I picked up my hair brush I heard screams and angry yells of "hot, hot!" Micah had decided his first bite of oatmeal was too hot and instead of spitting the bite out or calling for me, he decided to throw big spoonfuls of the mushy breakfast all over the room. The table, the floor, the walls, the window. Including on his clothes. Including on my clothes once I rounded the corner to see what the fuss was about. BIG mess. BIG interruption of plans.

Other things that happened today- he tried to be helpful and empty his own potty into the big potty. BIG mess.
He ignored me when I said it wasn't snack time and he tried to climb up the pantry. He fell and pulled food down off the shelf with him. BIG mess.
Then there are things that happen on a regular basis like peeing in his pants, pooping in his pants then taking them off on his own and dragging poo everywhere, coloring on the wall/table/door (hopefull he's learned his lesson about this!), pulling all of my shoes off the shelves in the closet, pulling all of his pants out of his drawer (he's broken the child-protection knob off of it!).

So, lately I feel like Rosie from the Jetsons. Just running around behind my manic nearly-two year old trying to keep him from destroying our rent house. We are in desperate need of new furniture in the living room. These couches are O.L.D. But I can't even fathom spending money on anything when we have at least one (and potentially as many as 3!) more toddlerhoods to live through! So for now (repeat after me) I love my toddler, I love his mess. I love my toddler, I love his mess. I love my toddler...