I have two super, amazing kids. They may be mutant, they are that awesome. My four year-old who inspires this blog has the stamina of--what's the wolf X-Man?--oh no, wait...yes--Wolverine(!) in the ultimate battles of the X-Men movies. He can move his freakishly strong body in gravity-defying ways, shrieking with joy and inevitably landing a body slam across the bridge of my nose, or most of the time, right on my husband's, shall we say, mutant-makers. He goes and goes and goes until we make him go to bed. And bedtime is at 7:30 sharp.
My bedtime is, oh, around 11ish. I'm not sure what I do between the hours that the baby and the boy are put down and I pass out, but it usually involves peanut butter, chocolate chips, a spoon, and the remote.
One day while racing to get the boy to pre-school, I had a moment of realization when a passerby lamented, "Oh, to have his energy!" (for about the millionth time) and I thought, well yeah, I'd have his energy too if I got 12 hours of sleep every night...Then I thought, and if I had someone make me eat 5 to 8 servings of fruits and veggies, drink water & 3 cups of milk, stay away from sugar or any kind of binge eating, and exercise daily. And furthermore, he gets soul recharging time to express himself musically and creatively at school, is read stories, and has time to himself to do nothing, but IMAGINE! Sure, if I had his life, I'd be jumping off of walls with glee too!
So why can't I live my life as well as my son's? Maybe because I still have to maintain adult relationships, pay bills, work, stress about finances, clean the house, and cook; therefore, I must stop acting like a spoiled child and get to a boring, friendless gym to work off my huge butt!
Ok, ok, but the truth is, I feel pretty lousy most of the time. I just might need to act like a four year-old in order to save my 35 year-old body. I need to parent, myself.