As I am writing this Titus, our 4 month old, is being lulled to sleep by the rhythmic swaying of a swing. That's right. He is, (dare I even say it?), a swing napper. Today I got Braxton and Royce Wendy's for lunch and I didn't even try to convince them that apple slices taste just as good as French Fries. Pretty sure Royce is napping with ketchup in her hair. Hayleigh got off the bus yesterday, took off her winter coat which desperately needs to be washed (girl friend's a magnet for just about every salty, slushy car she twirls past) and I noticed that her shirt was on backwards. Unless she's suddenly taken up streaking at school and hastily redressed herself before the principal caught on, I am assuming she left the house that way. That is super unlikely though since Royce is my streaker and I am pretty sure each family is only allowed one...right? When did I become that mom?
Now before you take up your side to either comfort or condemn me, can I just say something? I don't really care. I don't know if it was the 4 kids in 6 years thing that forced me into this somewhat freeing, somewhat disconcerting space-almost like a purgatory between "good" moms and deadbeats. I am over the false or self-fabricated guilt. I honestly just do not have the time to sweat if someone (okay everyone) is wearing mis-matched socks or to even remember the last time we windexed the fingerprints off the windows. I've got much more important things to worry about.
Like how over the past 3 days Titus has developed this sort of whine-howl thing that escalates every 20 or so seconds that it is ignored and seems, from what I can decipher, seems to indicate he is somehow unhappy laying on the floor mat or in the bumbo seat or basically anywhere else but in my lap. I looked at him the other day, my perfect, fat little cherry on top, and said through clenched teeth "will you please just shut up?!". I tough talked a baby, guys. (And Braxton of course reminded me I had used a "knife word", leading me down a trail of thought involving more knife words. Wasn't pretty. I need so much Jesus.) When did I become that mom?