Why fight it?
As I write, one of my two-year-old sons is behind me stark naked, playing with toys. I have attached his diaper five times in the last ten minutes. So now I will try putting on an undershirt with little snaps to hold it in place. Then a pair of pants over that. How long will it last? Ten minutes? Fifteen?
In the mornings, the twins wake up and either (a) start crying, (b) start pounding on the door with little sounds of “Mooooom” or (c) start playing independently. I am always excited for option (c) because that means I don’t have to rouse myself out of dreamland quite yet. When I finally do give in to the whisperings of “A good mother would actually let her children out of their bedrooms in the mornings….” I drowsily get out of bed and head to their room. When I open the door, two chipper and energetic boys come bolting out of their room in a blur. As I process what has just happened, I note the pile of clothing and diapers left in the room. I rub my eyes and look the other way. Two streaking naked bodies are careening away from me towards freedom.
Time to wake up.
