Sometimes I feel less like parents and more like we’re members of a really annoying pit crew.
Seriously. I come out of diaper changes, getting him ready for bed, or putting his clothes on to go somewhere out of breath and flustered.
If we’re both home, it’s SO much easier to have the two of us handle it together. One of us will undo the diaper while another one sings songs. One of us will put on a shirt while the other one puts on shoes. One of us will brush his teeth while the other one makes him laugh. We’re a well oiled pit crew, but somehow I wasn’t prepared for THAT to be one of my job descriptions.
I miss the time when diaper changes were done with a baby who loved to lay on his changing table, calmly kicking his legs for amusement, as we got his diaper off & a new one on with no kicks to the chest, no diaper full of poop flung across the room, no wails or screams because we dared–DARED!–to change his diaper.
I miss the time when getting ready for bed meant a calm swap of day clothes and diapers for night versions, rather than the marathon chase that bedtime has become featuring a kid who can RUN away, go boneless at a moment’s notice, and thinks it’s hysterical to crawl around our bed naked.
I think if I’d been prepared for the pit crew role, it might be easier. You know, we could have gotten some team shirts, some headsets: “Daddy, he’s coming your way & needs pants. I repeat, the pants have been compromised!”
Instead I feel like I’ve been thrown into a NASCAR race and barely know what the hell a lugnut IS, much less how to get it off and back on in record time.