There are lots of things about parenting that are really fun. Like teaching your kids fun new words (Olivia calls me a crackhead or says cock-a-roachie in a restaurant thanks to Auntie Kate), dressing them up and making them where the things you only wish you could wear to work, and then taking them to do super fun things and watching their little minds process it all.
There are also a lot of things that are not so fun about parenting. Such as meals, potty training, vomit, doctor appointments, absolute breakdowns over the blue crayon we have five of but they must have the exact one their sibling has, or explaining why it's not ok to carry the cat by the tail and/or leg. They start crying over every single thing until all of a sudden you realize you're crying louder than they are and feel like a dumbass because you too are having a breakdown over the last cup of Kool Aid.
It's hard out here for a pimp.
But what's really fun is when you hit the special parenting moments you don't think are really going to happen to you but then they do and then you feel like you should be getting a special badge or patch thingie for your sash like you would in Girl Scouts. (And I have no idea if this is true because my parents were too poor to let me do Girl Scouts and I have a feeling I wouldn't have exactly excelled in it if you know what I mean.)
Cue to early Sunday morning. Around 2:30 a.m. to be exact. Let's set the mood- I'm sleeping, Matt's not. Matt wakes me up for a little middle of the night sex (which is always a fun little surprise) and then I realize that I am like super into it. Which is good. So you know, we're having a good time *ahem* and I look up...as I'm *ahem* on Matt and bam- I see a little figure in the doorway of our bedroom.
Now, thankfully- the lights are out and I'm pretty sure Olivia can't see anything. She's like, "Ma..Ma..mommy? I need help."
So I tell her to just go back upstairs, I'll be there in a minute. Now obviously the jig is up. And a good parent would probably just be selfless and go help their four year old daughter who's having some kind of issue. But I? Was just so close....so I did what any self respecting 28 year old woman would do.
We finished our deed as QUIETLY as possible. Which was really hard.
Then I had to get off and get my jammies back on. Turns out- Olivia was right outside the door. I don't know if she watched, I don't know and I didn't ask...but I helped her upstairs. Where I discovered she had peed the bed. Joys. So after deciding that no, I'm not digging through the closet looking for new sheets and possibly waking Jackson up in the process....I put a towel on top of her sheets so she could go back to sleep and so I could deal with that mess in the morning. New blanket and pillow and she is good to go.
Fast forward to this morning. Where over breakfast, Olivia says to me, "Mommy? Am I going to get a baby sister?"
*spit out Captain Crunch cereal*
Obviously Olivia saw more than I thought or at least has the beginnings of where babies come from. Thank YOU, 16 and Pregnant.
Me: "No baby, we aren't going to have any more babies. Sorry."
Olivia: "Then you and daddy should stop playing, otherwise we'll have another baby Jackson. And he cries a lot."
SO... I pretty much changed the subject there but DAMN. She's four. I seriously thought I had a few years left until this kind of stuff happened. And I always hear her coming down the stairs because they creak loudly, but I never heard her that night. Neither did Matt, but he never hears anything. I can't shut my door because otherwise the cats scratch at the door all night and then it gets really hot in our room. We are just going to have to be extra careful next time. Oy.