Most days, I struggle to find my own air to breathe, as someone or something is constantly in my space. I try and I try to remind myself that puppies are only puppies once and the same goes for little girls. They are only little once.
But these endless daily reminders wear on me, and I find myself getting frustrated more easily and snapping at the kids much sooner than I would like.
Take cooking dinner, which can, if you have time, be a great way to involve your little ones in the cooking process, share with them your skill at burning things and teach them how to mistakingly add salt when you were supposed to add sugar. If you are trying to get dinner on the table in 10 minutes though, it can be a disaster.
When I've got boiling water going, meatballs cooking and salad fixings waiting to be chopped, the last thing I need on my kitchen counter is my daughter.
Granted, I love to have her there to "help" any other time of the day. But when I'm rushed, and at the end of my rope, and trying to feed the hungry masses? Not so much.
The same goes for my daily grooming routine. If you could call it that. Most days, Katie is right there with me, playing with her Polly Pockets as I shave my legs and condition my hair. The bonus to having her in the shower with me is that she is awfully adept at retrieving the soap when I drop it. The downside is that she likes to tell me I have cheeseburgers in my fanny. This leaves me feeling, oh, not so confident as I start my day.
I try to sneak in there without her knowledge, but it never works. No sooner do I think I'm alone when a little hand peels open the shower curtain and proclaims, "I'm coming in!"
I will refrain from telling stories of wanting to use the toilet alone.
Sleeping is another time when I would rather not be disturbed, in a big way. I love my sleep. I would marry sleep if I could. I do not get enough of it. And when that tiny figure appears at my side of the bed at o'dark thirty, I've become such an automated robot that all I say is, "Oh, hi there." And then I hoist the child up over my previously sleeping form and she wiggles into her "spot" between her parents.
The other morning, her knees were actually around my neck.
Say it with me now, "good times."
The funny thing about this incredible lack of personal space, air and, well . . . time, is that it is all being munched up by my daughter. My daughter, who tells me, "I love you mostest," and "You'll be my mommy until I am fourteen." What? Do I get a replacement at fourteen?
As much as I wish I could breathe, I am aware that in my frustration and lack of patience at times, lies a greater fulfillment than I could ever want.
And full is the way I like it.