Have you ever woken up to a normal day and your child woke up to crazy? You’re not sure what happened, you’re pretty sure you did nothing untoward, but your child decided that this day would be the day that they would lose.their.mind?
You should know that it takes me a while to unpack from a trip. I have the best intentions of getting everything done the night I arrive home, but it never happens. Then I convince myself it will be done the very next morning, which of course it isn’t. That’s why yesterday we still had two pieces of (gorgeous) DVF Signature luggage sitting in our living room, reminding me of my inadequacies every time I glanced in the direction of the door. Every few minutes El Guille would bring me one item from the luggage, as if it was the greatest prize in the world, “Look what I have for yoooouu!”
Yes, a onesie. Yes, some goldfish crackers. Yes, my headphones—hey, put those down! Put DOWN those chocolates. Put DOWN that DVD player right away! NO! Don’t drop it! You little, you GET to your room!
Just as I’d gotten Proximo to sleep in my arms, Guille came up to me with a small box of chocolates and said, “What are these?” and before I could stop him, he was shoveling the mini pralines into his mouth with both hands, snorting like a PIG at the same time. Yell and wake the baby? Settle for a crusty and whispered threats through your clenched teeth? It’s a hard call. I went with option two. I honestly thought that if I remained under the same roof as the DVD player-dropping child I might lose it. Every little thing he did seemed a calculated move in a chess game. I don’t know if you’ve ever done battle with a three-almost-four-year-old, but it’s brutal: the spitting, the kicking, the screaming, the repetitive beeping at full volume. There are no rules, in fact, it’s not like a chess game at all, it is a cage match.
That’s how adults spend their 10th wedding anniversary: trying to survive the product of the celebrated union.
In El Guille’s defense, he did find a receiving blanket and bring it to Proximo, laying the fabric on the baby and saying, “There, now you’re nice and cold.” Close, bud, close.
This morning he decorated the carpet…no not with anything from the fridge, at least not directly. “I burped,” he said sadly, indicating the vomit all over the floor, his bear, his hair, neck, ears, actually his entire person. If I didn’t want to replace the carpets before, I sure do now. A sick kid is better than a crazy kid, in the hierarchy of things. That’s what I kept telling myself as I rinsed the rags and cleaned the bucket out every 45 minutes.