Lately, I feel like I'm living a G N' R song.
Welcome to the Jungle, we've got fun and games....
In the jungle, welcome to the jungle
Watch it bring you to your knn, knne, knees, knees
I want to watch you bleed....
Welcome to the jungle it gets worse here every day
Ya learn to live like an animal in the jungle where we play
The song really has nothing to do with child-rearing, but it's just what's going through my mind these days. I feel a little like I'm living in a damn jungle. So let me explain.
My precocious EIGHT MONTH OLD is a hot mess of pulling up, cruising around, and showing his hot-headed temper. Just last night, he let go of the tub and caught himself before he fell. It's not time for him to start that nonsense, and I just know he's gonna be walking before I can say slow the hell down already.
But when I'm not chasing him all over the house and making sure he's not eating a POISONOUS plant, I'm contending with my oldest. You remember. The one that's too damn smart for his own good? The one that thinks a pleasant hobby is to figure out how to manipulate any and all situations to get what he wants? The one that was SO bad at preschool that not one, not two, but THREE people told me about it? The one that's so damn loveable and cute and sweet and smart that everyone who meets him falls in love instantly regardless of all those aforementioned things?
And so my world is a jungle, and I often find myself on my knees praying for sanity. But I suppose I rather learn to live like an animal.