I am one of the biggest Type-A, control freaks I know. Or I was, anyways. Until my tornado baby came along, I was Master Of My Universe, and I loved it. My house was always picked up, my kitchen immaculate – hell, I used to even buy flowers once in a while, just because. Flowers I would arrange in a lovely white pitcher on the clean, bare countertop, just because it looked so nice. I was Martha Freaking Stewart.
Now don’t get me wrong – I love my life even more now with that crazy adorable whirlwind running all over tearing my house apart, but I have had to learn to get over some things! And for me, this is definitely a work-in-progress. Here are some highlights from Life With A One Year-Old that still drive me (just a little bit) nuts.
- Sippy cups. In a perfect world, there would be one universal size and shape of sippy, regardless of brand name, so all the tops would fit all the bottoms. Nothing frustrates me more than pouring the milk into the sippy cup, but then realizing that the ONE top that is clean at the moment is a Nuby and not the Munchkin I need, because of course the Nuby won’t screw on to the Munchkin. But I take that back – it is possible that the milk that sprays all across the floor and up the wall 25+ times a day when the baby throws the sippy as hard as he can frustrates me more. “Leakproof?” Not in my house!
- Keeping track of things. For the first month of having the adorable Little People barnyard playset, I actually put the animals back in their corresponding stalls every night, shut the barn doors, and folded it up neatly in the toy corner of the living room. Seriously. Now, I am lucky if there is one farm animal within a 25 foot radius of said barn. My new daily battle is keeping my entire kitchen Tupperware stock out of the potato bin. Yesterday, I opened it up and found 3 tuppers, 5 lids, 3 baby spoons and a plastic cup that I had been looking for all morning. (And a sack of potatoes, that I forgot was even in there. Go figure.)
- Bedtime. I set out trying to keep my little guy to a strict 7:30 bedtime. I fought hard to keep it there, but the craziness of my life and ever-changing blended family schedule wore me down and made me give up the fight, rather than lose my sanity. “Bedtime” is now a sliding window from 7pm to 9pm, (depending on about 15 different variables ranging from baseball to fishing to homework to teething to whether we have had dinner or whether we can even SEE the dining room table under all the clothes piled on top of it, that need to be put away so we CAN have dinner.)
- The clean house/laundry conundrum. Having a baby wrecked havoc on both the cleanliness of my house and my ability to keep everyone’s laundry done, folded and put away. Mopping? Now done in small concentrated areas when a tub of yogurt gets hurled at the floor or the dreaded milk splatter sprays across the kitchen. Dusting? Do people actually do that? Folding clothes right out of the dryer? Impossible. If you don’t like wrinkles, you are in the wrong house.
- The dishwasher. I have spent some serious time trying to brainstorm an invention that would keep the overly-helpful baby out of the dishwasher. I usually end up hand-washing half of my dishes anyways these days, just to keep them out of his eager little hands. Knives, forks, anything that still looks dirty and anything breakable – these are his absolute favorites to grab as soon as someone sets them in the dishwasher rack. His other favorite pastime is pulling random (clean) utensils out of my cabinets and “loading” the dishwasher for me. I found the turkey baster in the dishwasher the other day. I haven’t basted anything in at least 6 months.
- My car. My car used to get vacuumed as much as my house did. I actually have a devoted Norwex microfiber that lives in the jockeybox for dusting my dash and cleaning the glass. Well, these days, I need a tub of clorox wipes, a garbage bag, and a shop vac to get my car back into shape. If I had a dollar for every goldfish cracker I found rat-holed away in the car seat, door handles, and floor mats, I could probably afford to get my kid-chariot detailed professionally once in a while.
I know that someday, my sweet little monster and his big brothers will be grown up enough to help me keep the house and car spotless and organized, most likely when they are 18 and off to college. And I fully realize that when this happens, I will be wishing with all my heart, for the days of goldfish crackers, spilled milk, and pacifiers scattered all over the house! So I am embracing my new personality like I am embracing motherhood. I am not even sure what the technical term is for the opposite of Type-A, so I’m calling it Type-Z!