18 Months and Counting

It’s been 18 months.

Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite
Call’d Robin Goodfellow: are not you he
That frights the maidens of the villagery;
Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn;
And sometime make the drink to bear no barm;
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?
Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,
You do their work, and they shall have good luck:
Are not you he?

Sometimes I look at my sons and I see them growing up before me. They’ve become little men before my eyes. Last Thanksgiving, the muppets could barely hold their own heads aloft. Today they’re on a tear to get into everything and anything around them.

They’re certainly demonstrating that they’ve got minds of their very own.

This weekend, Destroy decided he didn’t want to nap. He screamed bloody murder until I finally went to check on him. (I’m not a bad parent, but he knows how to push boundaries, so he has a 15-minute cry it out period. Don’t judge me people!)

“Notice anything missing?” I asked when I brought him upstairs?

In the absence of photographic evidence, I’ll give you a clue. My little Destroy had removed his pants (diaper included). It remains unclear if he awoke because he felt a draft or if he became so hysterically angry at not getting his way that he began ripping off his clothes.

Rumor has it that I used to have exorcist-style tantrums when I was his age – screaming bloody murder and disrobing. (I was allegedly a bit of a handful as a small, medium and large child.)

Recently, while admiring how well behaved my million dollar miracle muppets are (prior to the sleep stripping incident), my parents noted that it was amazing how I could handle two children when raising just the single me took the patience of Job as I buzzed around with the determination of stubborn triplets. It was actually a miracle my brother was ever born, they reassured me.

STOP TRYING TO CURSE ME WITH KARMA!

Note – I know I am loved. And while I do not explicitly recall my toddler years, I do remember being a teenager. So, cards on the table – yes, it’s a miracle my parents had another kid. And also, stop trying to curse me with karma.

In all fairness, the muppets certainly did give me a run for my money as they started life. (You think?)

You see, appearances can be deceiving. A scant year and a half ago, you may have looked down upon the muppets as mere mewling invalids – tiny 2-pound creatures struggling for survival. But under the façade of translucently wrinkled skin, preemie pattern baldness and cocoon of wires and sensors were two of the toughest men you’ll ever meet.

These clever and mischievous elves personify strength and stubbornness. They are pure, unadulterated exhaustion love.

Tonight, as I lay them down in bed, I told them I loved them. I told them I’ve known how much power they have in their little punches for a lot longer than 18 months. I thanked my lucky stars I have such good kids.

They stood up in their crib. Destroy gave me a devilish cockeyed grin. And clear as day, Search announced, “Uh oh!”

They are their mother’s sons. Damnit karma…

Search.

Destroy