My Sidekick

"My Sidekick"...because I don't know how else to describe it: This crazy love that melts my heart and makes me want to do cartwheels and occasionally pull out my hair and act like throw up is no biggie and sitting on the potty is the greatest accomplishment in the world and playing outside with dirt and bugs and sticks is always an adventure. For that kind of crazy love there is only one appropriate title: sidekick.

Things have been topsy-turvy lately. But I don't want to think about crazy; I want to think about love. My loves. My great hubby. My wonderful fam. And, of course, my sidekick.

This afternoon, I snuck in to wake him up for a doctor appointment, and when I saw this big ole' Butch Cassidy (his main nickname), I just had to take out my camera. When did he get so big!?!

At the doctor, he had to get blood drawn. And did my sidekick take it like a total champ? Well, duh. While he yelled, I talked to him about going to the car, and listening to music, and then going home. And of course when it was finished, he instantly stopped crying, turned to me and asked, "Open na door? Car?" And he did not say bye-bye to the nurse who drew his blood--but can you blame the boy?

When we got home, there were important things to be done: play outside with sticks, throw dirt, draw airplanes and rockets with chalk, spill the bubbles before we even had a chance to blow one, kill two ants (Toddler: "Ant!" Me: "Well, squash it." He obeys his momma. And again, toddler: "Another ant!" Me: "Well, you better squash that one, too."), chase a bird, and dig a worm out of the dirt.

"Chaaaaaaaarge!!!!!!!"

We played and played and played. And even though I didn't feel great, our time was great. And when 5:30 rolled around, and I dragged him kicking and screaming inside to eat an insanely early dinner (am I the only one who feels like Daylight Savings brings about an alternate universe in which you have to relearn the most basic things, like when to cook dinner?), I enjoyed my lasagna while he threw apple sauce all over the place. But it was one of those nights that I didn't care. The poor hubbs came in from work exhausted, and I kept trying to work out how I could put the toddler down while the sun was still up and still have time to watch E! News and The Bachelor. The result? The child was put down at 9:05.

I want to cherish these days of chaos. I really do. That might sound crazy--especially coming from me. Deep down, I love order. I love organization. I love neat labels. But a neat and tidy life? I don't think one exists. Without applesauce and worms and dirt and death looks at deserving nurses, life might be kind of boring.

And what's a sidekick for if not for adventure?