There are moments, days, or vast expanses of time when it's hard not to pine for a simpler time in life. This has been hitting me square in the chest lately each time I try to take a shower in the morning; I wistfully remember the days of yore when a shower meant a shower; and not a time of wrestling to keep the shower curtain closed, of dodging miscellany being tossed into the tub at thigh-level, of suggesting firmly that my little toddler has self-administered enough lotion, so why not go read some books for a few minutes?, or of hollering at said toddler, begging for a response to, "Please tell me what you're doing right this minute!" when things have been too quiet for a few too many passing seconds.
What ever happened to those days when my time belonged to me? When it didn't take a full 45 minutes just to make a smoothie for breakfast, thanks to endless toddler interruptions and simultaneous demands for said smoothie?
I knew that things would change when I became a parent; everybody knows that when they go into it. I knew that my days would no longer belong to me, and I even know that now, and am nothing but grateful every single day that I get to be so lucky. But, with all due respect: dear God, small child. You sure know how to keep it active around here.
I mean, who knew that making breakfast would take so long that said child would be demanding snacks while she waits? Or that I would have to take time out for things like wiping that little nose of hers four times, or grabbing the cat out of the hall closet by one leg and four whiskers while she clambers to get out of my grasp since toddler so graciously let her in whilst extracting every last roll of our Costco-sized set of paper towels off the shelf?
Alas, making a smoothie would be so much easier if I wasn't simultaneously running full-tilt toward the cat's litter box when my daughter makes mention of playing in our non-existent sandbox, or if I wasn't keeping the fridge closed with my foot while she tries prying it open, saying, "I need to watch a video an' have a beer!" (What??), or trying to keep half my mind on track while I devote the other fifty percent to deciphering what on earth she could be referring to when she starts wailing, "MY FIIIIISSSHHH! MY FISH STUCK IN DOWN DERE! DA BOOOOXXXX!" Because we don't have any fish. (Oh, wait. I see. She shoved a tiny wind-up plastic fish toy inside the carrying handles of a box of wipes I bought this morning. Whatever.)
And then, a few more minutes pass, and she's clomping past me with one bare foot and the other one inside one of my shoes, plastic picnic basket slung over her shoulder, proclaiming that she's off to work - "Have a good day!" She shouts.
Okay, so, are we still on for smoothies, then? Because it's half-blended and I'm picking up leaves of spinach from all over the kitchen floor and I think there's a string of banana peel hanging from my shoulder and for some reason I'm holding one small sock and slipper under my left arm. I need to know how I should proceed from here.