CELL BLOCK TWO

I was thinking today that sometimes it seems like being a parent of a two year old is like being in prison. Now, when I say this, don’t think that I hate my kids or something, because I don’t. It just struck me as a funny comparison.

For example, I am not allowed to sleep in. If my son is up, I have to be also. I’m not even allowed to lie down. He comes over, pats my arm, and says, “Mommy! Wake up!” In a very demanding manner. If I’m trying to dose off in the chair, he comes over, steals my blanket from me, pats me on the face, and says, “Mommy, are you okay?”

My husband is not allowed to wake up in the morning with the kids. If I even try to sleep in while he manages the kids, my son has a screaming fit on the door, kicking, screaming, and generally making a nuisance of himself. Needless to say, this is not conducive to sleeping.

Also, as a busy mom, I don’t tend to eat properly all the time. Sometimes it’s 1 or 2 in the afternoon before my stomach reminds me I haven’t had a proper meal. Usually, I eat whatever my son has refused or left on his plate. By the time I get it, its usually cold and dried up. Yum. Delicious. I'm sure prisoners eat more regularly than I do.

Also, like a prisoner, I’m rarely allowed a shower. I have to sneak off while he is watching “Little Einstein’s” and hurriedly shower before he notices I’ve disappeared. If I’m lucky, I can get soaped up before he notices. Then, he bangs on the bathroom door. “Mommy, Mommy! Almost done?” And then we spend the next five minutes having a conversation through the door. I have to give him constant updates on my showering status.

I’m not allowed to do chores without constant supervision. If I even think of turning the faucet on to do dishes, my son is there with his chair. He wants to help stir, help do the laundry, and help sweep the floor. Actually, he is quite the good helper; it’s just that I can’t seem to walk across the room without him attaching himself to my leg. The other day, he grabbed my hand, walked me into the kitchen, and demanded that I do the large pile of dishes that had accumulated that day. I told him that Mommy didn't feel like doing the dishes, and that he was more than welcome to do them himself.

Besides the constant interrogation let me describe the constant torture I endure as a mother of a two year old. In the morning, I sit down with my much needed cup of caffeine. Before you know it, it's be bumped or accidentally swatted out of my hands by the two year old. Thus keeping Mom away from her bad caffeine habit. Usually, I'm head butted at least twice a day. I've been bitten so many times I instantly move out of the way when I see the teeth emerge. If I lay or sit on the floor, this is an open invitation to stomp and climb all over my "old" bones.

Until recently, I was not allowed to leave the house without him. We have been working on this one. There are certainly times when I need to get away. Now, he just cries for about 10 minutes, and then realizes that he is just going to have to watch his movies with Daddy instead of Mommy.

I guess a two year old can be kind of demanding. However, being the prisoner of a two year old (and a 10 month old) is by FAR the best job I've ever had. I enjoy every day, even if I do compare it to being a "prisoner". I’m told that it doesn’t get any easier, but eventually one day I’ll get to catch up on my sleep. Until then, I don’t think I will qualify for early parole!