For this mommy re-blog, Jamie Johnson, over at Scary Mommy Blog, shares with us the realities of raising a toddler and what to expect if you are an unexpected guest. The story sounds oh-so-familiar. We even have a black lab!
If you visit my home unexpectedly, be prepared to be shocked and possibly disgusted.
I have a three and a half-year-old little boy, a six-month-old, and a 75-pound black lab.
Disclaimer: I also have a husband named Logan, but he does not usually cause people to be shocked and disgusted so I’m leaving him out of this one.
When you ring the doorbell, you will most likely be greeted by me. I will be wearing a pair of leggings and an over-sized sweatshirt that has spit up on it. My hair will be in a top knot and I will not have a stitch of makeup on. I will be cradling the baby in one arm and holding the barking 75-pound black lab back with the other hand. I will motion with my head for you to enter and yell “Come on in!” over the sound of the barking.
As you enter, I will probably have to choose between letting go of the dog or dropping the baby. I always choose letting go of the dog because this is one area of parenting where I excel.
The dog will proceed to jump on you numerous times while I yell at him to get down. The bad thing is, he does not give a shit what I say so he will continue to jump on you.
If you are scared of dogs, I should forewarn you against ever visiting my home.
At this point, I’ll lay the baby down somewhere that looks to be partially safe, grab the dog by the collar and drag him out the back door where he will stand and bark for the next 20 minutes or so.
After placing the beast of a dog outside, I will turn around, apologize for his animal-like behavior and offer you a seat in the living room.
But please don’t sit on the baby that I placed on the loveseat.
I will then proceed to pick up the baby who will spit up on me because of his acid re-flux. I will gingerly brush the spit up off with my sweatshirt sleeve and I will take a seat.
I will apologize for the fact that my house is a disaster.
You will probably agree that my house is, in fact, a complete disaster, but smile and say that it’s fine, your house looks the same way.
I know there is a large possibility your house could also look the same way, which makes me feel better. But then you could also be a clean person with no small children and live in a pristine state. If that is in fact true, welcome to the jungle.
There will be toys all over the living room, shoes and socks spread across the floor, a half-folded load of laundry on the coffee table, a blanket and play mat on the floor for the baby, and a slight dusting of black dog hair everywhere.
At some point during your visit, you will see my prized robot vacuum scoot by. The majority of the time there will be a random shoe and maybe a dish on top of it. Luckily my three-year-old has not tried to place his baby brother on it yet.
This is when the three-year-old will probably enter the room to see who is visiting. There is a 90% chance he will be naked or only partially clothed. We are still getting him fully potty-trained and letting him run around naked always guarantees he goes in the potty.
I will most likely forget that it’s not normal for a three-year-old to be running around like a tiny caveman on crack and carry on a conversation with you like nothing is out of the norm.
I will ask if you would like something to drink, but will let you know beforehand all we have is tap water, whole milk, expired coffee creamer, cheap beer, and an $8 bottle of wine.
If you are the Jimmy John’s delivery driver, you will probably just give me an odd look and ask me to sign my receipt before escaping as quickly as possible. Don’t trip over the robot vacuum on your way out!
If you are a friend or family, you will not be phased by the madness because you have experienced it before. You will make yourself at home and drink my cheap wine.
If you are a stranger selling something, you will probably wonder why I’m offering you wine and a seat on the couch. If you expect me to buy some random crap from you, you have to at least listen to my partially-clothed kid sing Jingle Bells while standing on top of the coffee table.
Twenty-five year old me would have been absolutely shocked and aghast if she saw this as my future, but here I am, living the dream. Just not the same dream I had when I was twenty-five.
So if you ever want to stop by, please do. I’m writing this so you don’t go into shock upon arrival. I’ll have a cheap bottle of wine waiting!