All the signs were there, but I guess I just didn’t see it. Or maybe I was in denial. But after jumping in the shower this morning, there was no more denying it.
I turned on the water like I do every morning and didn’t notice anything different. That’s not surprising since many people are on autopilot in the a.m. and they do everything mechanically because they’re only half awake. Once the water got hot I climbed in and started to wash up. All of a sudden I felt strange and the hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up straight. I felt eyes on me, but that was impossible. MJ was in the kitchen and there aren’t even any windows in our bathroom. Frantically I looked around, even up at the ceiling to find out where this freaky sensation was coming from.
And then, when I looked down, that’s when I saw it.
It’s a duck. In a fireman’s outfit. And for some reason it was on my shower faucet. I questioned MJ as to how this psychotic looking animal came to grace us with its presence. She told me it goes on the faucet to keep Will from hitting his head during bathtime. And that’s when I realized that our house is not our house anymore. Will has taken over.
Don’t believe me? Follow me on a brief photographic tour of our humble abode.
This one is kind of a given because it’s Will’s nursery, but still…look at all that stuff! We haven’t used that swing in months, that rocking chair is too rickety to even hold my fat ass and the rest is clothes. For such a little man, his wardrobe is outrageous! He has more outfits than MJ and I combined. And those clear totes are all MJ. She has this OCD thing with clear totes. All the clothes that she packs away have to be organized accordingingly and put in clear totes she knows exactly what they are when she puts them in the attic. I made fun of her at first but I find it’s best not to poke the bear.
This is our living room. It’s the first thing you see when you walk in our front door. Toys, toys and more toys. Buckets of toys. And I’m not even sure we bought all of them. I’m fairly confident these toys hump like rabbits during the night and multiply in spades by morning. It seems like each time we put the toys back in the baskets, by morning they end up in the farthest reaching regions of the house.
That’s our living room leading into the kitchen. Notice the odd configuration of the Pack n Play? Yeah, that’s because our Pack n Play serves a dual purpose. Sure it holds Will in the morning while we do errands, but it’s also a blockade. We have to stick that thing between the couch and the entertainment center to block our little explorer from getting to the kitchen and the dog bowls. That means I either need to move the Pack n Play every single time I need to get to the kitchen, or — more often than not — I have to hurdle the couch. And yes, I have fallen several times and pulled a hamstring in the process. But do I stop? Of course not.
And our tour ends in the dining room with Will’s high chair. As you can see, Will is not the only one who gets fed. When we put him in his high chair for meals, the dogs immediately bolt over and take up a post nearby. They wait for dropped food, or they wait for Will to just feed them himself.
As you can see, the kid is everywhere. And even if he’s not, his stuff is. I’ve learned that when you have children, your house is inevitably transformed into one continuous playground. At first you think that you’ll keep all his stuff in the nursery, only to discover that you actually don’t spend any time in the nursery. Which is a bitch because you’ve spent hours painting, putting up baseboard, putting in a chair rail and stenciling the entire top of the room with moons and stars. So the nursery becomes a storage center with one little path leading to the crib for bedtime.
Meanwhile, every other part of the house you thought was yours, is anything but. It’s his. Everything is his. Kids are like the aliens in the movie Independence Day. They take over your house and use it for their own purposes until there’s nothing of yours left. Except that movie lasted two hours and this invasion lasts at least 18 years.