I think it’s the nature of parenting to always be one step behind your kids, literally and figuratively. I’ve got to be one literal step behind my ten month old at all times, or I’ll look over and he’s getting his eyes clawed out while battling our grumpy cats for undisputed control of the litter box.
My three year old, somehow, is even more exasperating.
Every time I get used to “normal,” he figures out some new way to cause chaos. I walk out of the room with him watching DuckTales (I finally got him to sing the theme song and now he lets out “woo oohs!” at random intervals in public – I love it). I come back a few minutes later after unsuccessfully keeping the toddler from gnawing another phone charger into disrepair, and he says,
“Daddy, I got some milk.”
Okay, maybe it’s not that bad. He’s never gotten milk before, and he likes to pretend, so maybe he has some pretend milk… right?
Nope, he holds up his glass – a glass I did not get him – and shows me the milk. I barely knew the kid could open the fridge, let alone access the cupboard with the cups in it. I can’t even imagine the mechanics of how he came to procure this milk.
Don’t panic. He got the milk, right? Disaster averted?
“Daddy, I spilled some.”
“That’s okay buddy, we’ll clean it up.”
I go into the kitchen, and sure enough, the kid got some milk. I’m also pretty sure he thought he had to beat the pitcher to death before he was worthy of the milk, and it was a glorious battle. How did I not hear this? This level apocalypse surely could not be possible without primal war cries. The level of mess that makes you wonder about your secuirty deposit or your homeowner's insurance. The level of mess that makes you wonder if someone called the cops yet.
At least he put the pitcher back and closed the fridge, so I’m calling it a win.
Still have no idea how he got the damn cup.