For whatever inexplicable reason, TJ decides that putting on his diaper and PJs is not on his agenda tonight. Sorry kid: Diaper because you just ain’t potty-trained yet and PJs cuz you’ll be cold in the night.
Commence an almost 30 minute fit with me wrestling him to the ground like an angry hissing little Gila Monster where my only hope was just wearing him down and tiring him out.
I’m sweating bullets and pulling from my years of athletic endurance. It’s a mind game now. He‘s red faced and contorting himself in every which way his little body would go. Secret: It’s a lot of ways.
My arms are tired and my core is aching. I really want to give up, when I hear two little voices behind me start quietly chanting:
“Go mommy… go mommy… go mommy… go mommy…”
Then get louder:
“GO mommy… GO mommy…. GO MOMMY…. GO MOMMY”
I strengthen my resolve and hold on for dear life. The gasping little thing begins to slow his roll and the rage subsides. I turn around to my cheering squad and we all high five. TJ, now tired from throwing the fit about the thing he can’t even remember is hiccuping loudly. I put on his PJs. I give him a big hug. He hugs my neck and kisses my cheek. He rolls off the floor and runs downstairs.
The cheering squad follows. After they leave, I stretch and close my eyes, processing the emotions. Sometimes, it takes a village and just sometimes, the village lives right in your own home.
High fives all around for surviving another night in the village of Crazy Town.
An American humorist, writer and author. When boiling down the chicken soup of life, she finds those golden, fried nuggets of truth & writes them long after the kids go to bed.
