My adorable, spirited twins are reaching An Age. An Age that is challenging me immensely. So far, they’ve chased away several young, able-bodied babysitters. The last one they ran off said, “I don’t know how you do this. All respect.”
I am in the midst of composing an ad for a sitter.
“Do you have the patience of the Dalai Lama? Do you enjoy a challenge on par with the building of the Golden Gate Bridge? Are you a short order cook? A fashion consultant who enjoys wardrobe changes every 15 minutes? A sanitary worker who does not mind cleaning little potties every hour on the hour?”
Babyhood was a fun whirlwind of exhaustion. Early toddlerhood was an immune system strengthening test of how well I baby proofed the house. The terrible twos? Not so terrible. But aged three?
Probably the best way to explain this age is to tell you that I did a Skype teleconference with my parents and the kids. It lasted 20 minutes. After it ended my mother had to go take a nap. It lasted twelve hours.
I never feel like I should vent about being a mom. I’m so happy to be one. I went through so much to be one.
Is it OK to complain about how hard motherhood can be when you’re an infertility vet? Does anyone know any Nanny McPhees that live in the Bay Area?
