I think I've had a lot to blog about, but can't ever seem to get beyond a few sentences. Perhaps there's not much more to say than this :
I feel less and less like a mother these days and more and more like a referee or prison guard.
Motherhood is torture. Even the most amazingly beautiful moments hurt you like hell.
One morning Max helped Alex put her shoes on and then he said to her, "There, Alex! See, you don't need Mommy anymore. You have me."
Alex turned two just before Thanksgiving. She stopped nursing about a week before and also showed glimpses of potty training. I was so happy for her progress and so sad that I no longer have a baby.
This is how my son helps me bake and cook: He stands on the stool next to me shouting, "Mommy, what are you doing?" every five seconds - and then, "WHY?" after every answer and then "WHY?" a couple of more times. During the inquiry, he proceeds to hang all of measuring cups from his ears, stick whatever he can on his fingers and tongue, wear the bowls, strainers, tongs (you name it) on his head, and tuck the rolling pin between his legs. Then he spends the remaining time jumping up and down doing the 'I have to pee, but I'm not gonna' dance while giggling and trying to keep it all on.... I can't help but think, this could explain a lot...
