There is no "woe is me" with little ones. Over the last couple of days I’ve been amazed watching my two little guys, both of whom have had it comin’ out both ends as if their bodies were bottomless pits of bile and other grossness. At the time, of course, they’re not exactly laughing. But in between? It’s time to have fun, dammit!
In between puking and pooping, kids just wanna play.
Goes like this: Play with blocks. Giggle. Dance. Puke. Get cleaned up. Giggle. Colour. Do stickers. Poop. Get cleaned up. Watch birds out the window. Draw on window with special markers. Giggle. Puke. Get cleaned up. Play cars. Crawl around like kitty cats. Read books. Puke. Get cleaned up. Play.
And on and on it goes.
They don’t sit around feeling sorry for themselves, because the world around them is so beautifully filled with goodness and fun and craziness and excitement and messes and marvels.
Why do we adults find it so hard to hang on to that?