Things I said I would never do...

Before children came, my vision of mommy-hood was clear. And it was really pretty, too. I could see all the future Smiths, lined up in a neat little row, wearing their matching outfits, sitting at the dinner table eating the ONE meal I had prepared, kissing - NOT biting - each other goodnight,and loving every minute of being a part of this family. This pretty, pretty family. I somehow managed not to envision the addiction to Thomas the Train and fruit snacks. Or that matching outfits would only last for two hours of any given day. Or that temper tantrums in grocery stores could only be solved with chocolate-glazed donuts (for him, not me). Or that I would never sleep like a normal person again. Ever. Or that carpet and furniture would be destroyed with boogers and spit and throw-up and pee. Yes, pee. Lots of pee. Oh, and poop too. The things I said I would never do...well, I do them. A lot. Hence the chocolate-glazed donuts. And no one ever told me that once babies came, I would never, ever go to the bathroom by myself again. Not ever. In fact, dropping a load has become a family affair. An affair where one baby unravels the entire roll of toilet paper while the other baby starts sifiting through the gargbage can, toilet brush in hand. So now there are the things I never THOUGHT I would have to do, which brings me to my first-born, my sweet baby boy who one minute is blowing me kisses and the very next is on the floor, in a heap, screaming at the top of his lungs because I dared wipe his nose. My first-born loves ding-dings. Yes, ding-dings. And no, I am not referring to his family jewels this time. This time I mean belly buttons. And this is what I have discovered - hand the kid a copy of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition while we are all crammed into the bathroom and I have at least one of the two not attempting to drink toilet bowl cleaner. And it works. It really, really works. He takes the magazine, sits on the floor, and flips through the pages, pointing out all of the ding-dings he can see. For the record, there are lots of ding-dings in the Swimsuit edition. Lots of them. And ta-tas, too, but he doesn't seem to notice those yet. Thank God. Can you picture it? Reason #513 that I should be named Mother of the Year, people.

And yes, that is Noah eating a rock. Reason #514...