How to Lose Your Mind in Just 30 Short Months

Step 1: Have a baby.
Step 2: Resist common sense and cling to the illusion that it will still be possible to keep a clean house.
Step 3: Sit tight.

Trust me- in only thirty months, you too, can have a cluttered house. You too can bruise your heel by stepping on small plastic toys with jagged edges carelessly left in your path from the bed to the bathroom. You too can be late everywhere you go because you have to clean up after the oh-so-threatening natural phenom that is...dun, dun, dUN... The Two Year Old.

I'm convinced I live in the eye of a tornado. Things may look calm, feel calm. Heck- I might even get an occasional nap here or there. But I'm always just recuperating from the last storm and desperately trying to store up energy to live through the next one.

I have a generally well-behaved child. We learned early on that we would lose control of our home (and our minds) if our demands and commands weren't quickly followed. So Micah knows that he can only dawdle for so long before he'll get in trouble for inaction. That usually means time out. And when those efforts are met with subterfuge the next step is a spanking.

But Micah can work the system. He knows that the one time he can throw caution to the wind and really have a good time is when I'm nursing Caleb or when I'm getting dressed.

For example, tonight I began getting ready for a night out with friends, while Terry was still at work. I had a "to-do list" in my head. Unload dishes, switch clothes in washing machine to dryer, make quick dinner for Micah, etc. I'm checking things off my list in between curling my eye lashes. Things are getting done, minutes are clicking by, if I'm able to keep up this productive tempo I will indeed make it to the car in time to drive through Starbucks on my way out.

Suddenly Micah runs through the bathroom and straight passed me into the closet. I vaguely hear him yell as his little blurred image of batman pajamas whirls by, "hide and seek!"

And that was it. I had no time to react. No time to even think straight. No time to reach out and grab the end of that little batman cape attached to his shoulders with shoddy velcro.

Before I can set my flat iron down I hear wooshing and whirring and when I arrive at my closet door, I see exactly what I expect to see: the destructive measures of Hurricane Micah. I think you must have to pass a test on "Fast and Effective Messes: The Art of a Two-year-old" before they let you graduate from baby to toddler. In one quick and easy move- just an attempt to find a great hiding spot (from whom he was hiding I have no idea, no one was home but me and Caleb)- he knocks over the clothes hamper, dislodges half a dozen pairs of pants and their hangers, and pulls my giant pregnancy pillow from a shelf which brings the other items around the pillow coming crashing down on top of the aforementioned clothes. 20 seconds to create the mess. 20 minutes to clean it. Sadly, no more Starbucks for me.