I had big plans to do a sweet self-portrait of me and my chickens tonight, reading a story by lamplight in their sparsely-furnished bedroom—maybe in black and white—and write about how I am trying to help them regain some normalcy after all our travels. I wanted to say that I am trying to feed them earlier, and put them to bed on time, and settle into something of a routine again, because I love them and take good care of them and I am such a fantastic mother.
You know how this story ends, right?
So, since we landed in our new digs, Boyish has determined to discover what exactly will happen if he seriously injures his baby sister. He has pushed, kicked, and pulled her over onto the floor, the bedframe, the wooden train tracks strewn about the living room. The way I figure it, it’s only a matter of time until he discovers the stairs.
So while I’m setting up our portrait, he saw that Babe-ish had his toothbrush (which he never uses) in her fat little fist. So he snatched it away, making her cry. I snatched it back, explaining how snatching is wrong, and gave it back to the her. He then grabbed some dental flossing thing that Girlish had gotten out and left on the floor (we’re really into dental hygiene around here) and began poking the baby on top of her sweet little head.
She is only 9 months old—she still has a soft spot there, and what I do not need right now is a freak accident and a brain-damaged baby. Or my son psychologically scarred for life because of said freak accident and potential brain damage. So, since I am gunning for Meanest Mother of the Year, I grabbed his arm and yelled at him. He cried. She cried. I sat on the floor and tried not to cry. While they both climbed all over me, wailing. It was a Kodak moment.
I read earlier, here, that jet-lag makes a person irritable. Who knew? I thought it was just the personal upheaval and transatlantic move. Honestly, I mean, it makes perfect sense—I can’t sleep; I’m utterly exhausted for a thousand reasons—the person I should be putting to bed early, apparently, is me.