If you find yourself visiting my home without prior notice, brace yourself for an experience that might leave you both astonished and slightly appalled.
I am the proud parent of a rambunctious three-and-a-half-year-old boy, a six-month-old baby, and a 75-pound black Labrador. A quick disclaimer: my husband, Jake, is also part of this chaotic mix, but he typically doesn’t evoke the same level of surprise, so he’ll be excluded from this overview.
Upon ringing the doorbell, you will likely be greeted by yours truly, dressed in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt adorned with baby spit-up. My hair will be hastily tied up in a bun, and you’ll find me with the baby cradled in one arm while I struggle to restrain the barking Lab with the other. I’ll nod towards the door for you to come in and shout, “Come on in!” over the din of our canine companion.
As you step inside, I’ll face the dilemma of either dropping the baby or releasing the dog. Spoiler alert: the dog gets set free, as it’s one aspect of parenting in which I excel. Predictably, the dog will leap on you repeatedly while I call out for him to calm down. Just a heads up for those who are wary of dogs—this might not be the best place for you.
Next, I’ll find a somewhat secure spot to lay the baby down, grab the dog by the collar, and usher him out the back door, where he’ll bark incessantly for the next twenty minutes. Once the pooch is outside, I’ll apologize for his wild behavior and invite you to sit in the living room. However, please avoid the baby, who I’ve temporarily placed on the loveseat.
I’ll then attempt to settle down with the baby, only to have him spit up on me due to his reflux. I’ll nonchalantly wipe it off with my sleeve before taking a seat and apologizing for the state of the house. Expect a disaster zone: toys scattered everywhere, socks and shoes littering the floor, a half-folded laundry pile on the coffee table, and a blanket and play mat for the baby. Oh, and don’t be surprised by the light dusting of black dog hair covering everything.
At some point, you’ll witness my beloved robot vacuum zooming past, often with a stray shoe or dish precariously balanced on top. Thankfully, my three-year-old hasn’t yet attempted to place his baby brother on it!
Soon enough, my three-year-old will likely make an entrance, and there’s a 90% chance he’ll be completely or partially unclothed. We’re still working on his potty training, and letting him roam free seems to help. I often forget that it’s not typical for a child to run around like a wild caveman during a visitor’s stay and will chat with you as if nothing is amiss.
When I ask if you’d like something to drink, I’ll have to inform you that our options are quite limited: tap water, whole milk, expired coffee creamer, cheap beer, or an $8 bottle of wine. If you happen to be a delivery driver, you might give me a puzzled look before quickly signing off and making your exit. Just be careful not to trip over the robot vacuum on your way out!
For friends or family, this chaos is nothing new, and you’ll comfortably pour yourself a glass of my inexpensive wine. Strangers, however, may find it puzzling that I’m offering you wine and a seat while my half-clothed child serenades you with an off-key rendition of “Jingle Bells” from the coffee table.
Years ago, I would have been taken aback by the sight of my current life, but here I am, navigating this unique journey of motherhood—albeit a different dream than I envisioned back then. So, feel free to stop by anytime; I’m writing this to prepare you for what awaits. A cheap bottle of wine will be on standby!
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Summary:
This article humorously outlines the chaotic experience of unexpected visits to a home filled with small children and a large dog, blending candid parenting moments with relatable scenarios. It aims to prepare future visitors for the delightful yet unpredictable nature of family life.