First let me preface this by saying, I love my children. I wouldn’t change a single hair on their heads or aspect of their characters.
K. Now that the disclaimer has been formally written…
They are not in any way, delicate or gentle creatures. They seem to barrel through life thus far like little baby bulls in the proverbial china shop, smacking, flailing and pounding about, leaving mass chaos and a slight amount of pain in their wakes. Not surprising, as their mother lacks her own sort of finesse, but may I still vent, even if I am the tree that dropped the reckless little apples?
Today, I have been kicked in the esophagus and the rib cage during one of the 17 diaper changes, my hair has been pulled out of my head by tiny infant fingers, and those same fingers have left scratches on my neck from the razor blades of nails she refuses to let me cut. Zachary flops around and inadvertently kicks and hits whatever is in his way, and Isabelle, since the day she was born, gets great joy out of pinching skin until you have to pry her little death trap hands open before she draws blood.
This morning, I managed to disengage myself from Bam Bam and Ellie Scissorhands during some floor time gone out of hand, and whined in somewhat of a 12-year-old voice, “Why are you hurting me!?”. Of course they giggled in confusion. They most certainly aren’t masochists by nature, although it feels that way at times.
So, I implore you…please call Mommy Protective Services and see if they can remove me from this unsafe home, if maybe just for the weekend. Perhaps they could place me somewhere that has spa services and gentle massaging hands. My bones and skin need some TLC.
Let me know what they say.