Where Ma Ingalls aspirations evolve into merely avoiding dysentery on a daily basis.
We call him the plan wrecker.
I once thought that leaving my corporate career to be a SAHM would lead to blissful days of backyard homesteading, more about homemade jam, viagra dosage perfectly executed Moby wraps, pristine toilets, sci-fi marathons, and baby yoga. Because, namaste people, namaste.
Then the universe gifted me my spirited bundle of joy. I imagine it then sat back laughing so hard it peed a little as it watched the first few terrifying weeks of shit hitting the fan.
I half expected a video message to be sent to me telling me not to blink. Don’t even blink. It was that eye-opening. (Note: yes, there will be Whovian sprinkles in this blog)
Our little love bug has thrown most of my aspirations and dreams of crunchy-nerdy-momma grandeur out our depressingly dirty windows. Of course, as we all say, I wouldn’t change a thing, but he sure has changed my mind about nearly everything I thought my SAHMyhood would be.
My garden is half dead, I now glare at the jam stands in the farmers market, my Moby almost strangled me, one of our bathrooms is completely torn apart, our doctor forbids TV marathons in front of the little man, and the closest thing I’ve gotten to a downward facing dog with my nugget is our awkward crib transfers.
My concept of what our “nest” should be has evolved. And it continues to do so on a daily basis.
Join me in my EvolutioNEST.