The amount of bodily functions I am forced to deal with on a daily basis is unfathomable. It is disturbing to ponder the amount of time spent dealing with such “accidents” if you may. The quotes around accident are very, very necessary I might add. This afternoon was particularly filled with such activity.
After a terribly long drive home from a well check up, (in which being the complete space shot that I am, I went a total of 23 exits past my own) both my boys were soundly sleeping. As usual, first I carried a sleeping Miles inside, peeled off his shorts that he had an accident in while sleeping and placed him in his bed. Today he awoke and announced, “My not tired anymore”. Knowing full well fifteen minutes will not do for his afternoon nap, I urged him to try for a few minutes and if it did not work out then he could get up. Well, this was apparently not the response he wanted to hear. He began to moan and wail in only the way an exhausted two year old can. I didn’t have time for this, for I had another boy to attend to who was equally upset but for different reasons, still strapped into his car seat. With out so much as a word, I scrambled away and swooped up my other little boy. On walking back inside, my sweaty sleepy and thoroughly pissed off Miles was standing in his doorway giving me the stink eye while doing just that. Peeing. On the floor. Clearly on purpose.
Sigh. Giant, enormous, sigh. So, I did what I do and I told him I was not happy. He knows how to use the potty. Blah blah blah. I cleaned it up, plopped him back in his bed, begged him to give the napping thing another try, and proceded to sit down and nurse a very frustrated Rowan. During this ten minutes, my sweet, adoring, VERY two-year old decided to quietly pee on every possible surface in his entire room. Mostly all over his bed. I cannot describe my confusion at such an act. In the words of my own mama, “Parenting is just …messy.”. Hit the nail on the head their mama. Damn messy. And oh my goodness so mentally taxing.
Needless to say, there were no naps this afternoon. I simply gave up. All I could muster up for the next hour was just short of the silent treatment. (I know, I know. My maturity level clearly is the same as my sons. What can I say? I ran out of fuel.) Miles sensed this totally bummed out aura lingering over my head and apologized so sweetly. So many times. I know he felt bad about it all. But still, WHY? Why would he do this? I suppose these things are better not over analyzed. Or better yet, not analyzed at all.
Time went by and my funk faded away. A couple of games of dominos and about a half a bar of dark chocolate later I just decided to let it be. I think. Oh I know these are little problems. I know they are just par for the course. But ugh. That mama guilt is for real. All I can do is think, “What in the world have I done wrong?”.
So when the clock neared daddy is home time, we headed to the front yard for an afternoon bubble blowing session and to my surprise something we had been eagerly awaiting for fourteen full days had finally occurred. Five little Carolina Wrens had hatched and were all mouths open not so patiently waiting for their mama to bring back their meal. After the first few visits she grew somewhat more accustomed to me and would not fly away. Every time I had checked on this lady (which was constantly) she just looked at me with those wet black eyes. I was so impressed with her persistance. I had begun to doubt that they would ever hatch. But she knew what was up. It was programmed in that little bird brain of hers. I just love to ponder her instincts. Then of course I get all philosophical and start to wonder, what are mine? Do we have them as humans anymore? What are Miles? What sort of crazy thought process does he go through when he does these terribly frustrating things? These are the things I think about. I am not sure why. I just do.
So we spent the rest of the day outdoors. Miles in nothing but his birthday suit. Me scrubbing his mattress thinking about birds.