One day, I’ll pee alone.
One day I will be able to eat a sandwich and be seated the WHOLE TIME. One day I’ll be able to sit and write for more than 10 minutes at a time without rising to fetch a drink of milk, find a Lego piece or rescue a train that has been de-railed.
Today is not that day.
Today is the day that I appeal to the parenting gods: give me patience. Give me a kind voice when my child asks me for the THOUSANDTH time, “want to talk about steam trains?” Help me remember that nothing is more important than responding with enthusiasm when he says, “will you come hang out in my room with me?” even though I want to shut myself in a dark, silent closet and binge eat Tagalongs. Help me celebrate the day, not just try to survive it. Because one day, he won’t want to talk, he won’t ask, and he won’t follow me around.
But today is not that day.