There was a stretch of time after Reagan was born when I decided that I should no longer blog about our intimate family details. I started to envision Harper and Reagan being 15 and 13, respectively, and googling our names and finding things like this. Or googling themselves and reading about their entire potty-training saga.
(Editor’s Note: The entire paragraph above is bullshit and should have read: Having a second child has changed the game. I don’t know when I could find time to write a 10 paragraph blog about Reagan’s first word (no) or Harper’s favorite word (vagina). We are in a vortex of chaos, and it’s a miracle that I’m still employed. And married.)
And then it dawned on me. The blog was my baby wayyyy before the girls came around. I like writing stories about what goes on in my life. So these two are going to have to suffer through it the same way that Sanch and Laef have. Especially when Harper asks me why my boobies are so big. Or when she can drive. Or when the iPad is going to be done charging. You can’t provide a constant stream of content and expect it to go undocumented.
Speaking of things that come out of Harper’s mouth, it should come as no surprise to people that Harper has already used the word fuck. Might I proudly add that it was in perfect context. She was changing her baby’s diaper when she realized she didn’t have everything she needed, “Fuck! I forgot Annie’s diaper!”, she exclaimed.
Unfortunately, I was not present to witness her first swear word, but Laef – being the child of two teachers, a former 4.0 student and a polite Midwesterner – was sure to recount it to me later.
Laef: “We had the talk. I told her we don’t use that word. She said, ‘What word, fuck?’
Me: Crying from laughing so hard.
Laef: “Seriously. You can’t say it anymore.”
Me: “Wait. Tell me again how she said it.”
Laef: “This is serious. We are not going to have the kid at school who says, ‘fuck’.”
Fair enough. I don’t want that kid either.
But, it’s virtually impossible to censor yourself when you have two children under the age of 4 co-habitating with two adults and a cat. What you are basically saying to me is that when Reagan digs a peanut butter and jelly sandwich out of my lunch bag and spreads it all over the kitchen floor that I am not allowed to wonder, WHAT THE FUUUUCK JUST HAPPENED?!
What you are also saying is that when Harper and I have the following conversation at 2:45 a.m.:
Harper: “I hungry.”
Me: “We are not eating crackers in bed anymore. It’s nighttime and they make too many crumbs.”
Harper: “Milk doesn’t make crumbs.”
Me: “Milk makes you wet the bed.”
Harper: “But, Mommy, carrots don’t make crumbs. Or wet the bed.”
I am not allowed to end this conversation with, “WHY THE FUCK AM I HAVING THIS DISCUSSION IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?!”
Needless to say, I have been working on it, and we are making progress. I just wish that Harper and Reagan would make progress on not throwing the roll of toilet paper into the toilet and dumping bath water onto the floor so that Sanch can drink it. “But, Moooooommmmy, Sanch really loves water.”
I wish that we could make progress on carrying a cup of milk from the kitchen to the table without half of it on the floor. “But, Moooooommmmy, Sanch really loves milk.”
I wish that we could get bedtime down to a 10-minute process rather than a 20 minute process. Who knew there could be so many questions about a toothbrush and toothpaste?
“Why is this toothpaste brown?” “Does Reagan have a tootbrush?” “Does Sanch have a toothbrush?” “What color is your toothbrush?” “Can I use your toothpaste”
Who knew that pee sleeps?
“Mommy, I can’t go potty yet because my pee is resting. We need to wait here until it wakes up. Shhhhh.”