Monkey Child

I started this blog as a rant about the happenings at Kiddo's Fifth Birthday Bash.

From parents making out in my kitchen...not once, but twice...to uncontrolled children and folks who thought it was OK to drop their child off and leave without EVER telling me...to guests randomly parking in my neighbor's driveway...even though the entire cul de sac was available.

I typed it all out...inserted a graphic...tried to move it...lost it all...tried to get it back...hit Save instead...it was lost.

Oh well.

So instead I'll go down Memory Lane.

I've spent the past five years with a child that pretty much cried the entire first year.

Didn't sleep...EVER.

Made me cry.

Made me smile.

Made me worry.

Made me wonder.

Made my heart soar.

He is the smartest, brightest, most well behaved child in the History of Children.  I should know...according to my mother, I was the exact same way.

As all mother's tend to think of their children.

Even though there are days I want to flick him between the eyes.

That seems to be my go-to instinctual reaction to many of his antics.

I don't flick him...I just WANT to.

I marvel at that little hand that still wants to hold mine.

When he sleeps he looks EXACTLY the same as he did when he was an infant.

Some mornings, when he is stretching to wake up, I see glimpses of that Newborn squirming around and making faces.

I love my child so much it hurts.

I want my child to succeed and be happy.

To live life.

To enjoy.

To pay fucking attention once in a while.

To listen.

 Yeah right.

I still go to bed with him every night.  I don't think he knows that I do not sleep with him. 

Most of the time I don't sleep with him.  There are still mornings that I wake up in the RaceCar bed with feet in my face.

And I will continue to go to bed with him as long as he will let me.

Because someday he won't want to hold my hand, or cuddle on the couch, or tell me the latest storylines on the Avengers or Spiderman. 

My Monkey Child...oh how far we have come...how far we have to go.

And as I write this, I've had to threaten to take away the most obnoxious toy ever because he won't stop making it talk...over and over...without letting the toy finish its line...so I just keep hearing 'I am Iron' 'I am Iron' 'I am Iron' 'I am Iron' 'I am Iron' 'I am Iron'....I am about to scream!

I may go flick Iron Man between the eyes.

Love you Monkey Child...it's time for bed.