The World According to Beckett

Texas summer heat + third trimester belly + surprisingly fast oversized toddler + opinionated preschooler = a tired mama. And a tired mama = an impatient, grumpy mama. (At least in my case.)

Do you ever have those moments when you float outside your body and hear the things you’re saying to your kids – or the tone of voice you’re using, or the ridiculous threats you’re making – and think, “Chill the heck out! They’re just kids.”

Yeah, me either…

The point is, I can see how I *might* have been hard on my biggest boy in recent months. I just want him to behave and speak like a civilized adult. IS THAT SO UNREASONABLE?!

…and then I take steps back and think sheesh. He’s only 3 years old. He seems so big in comparison. His independence is growing, his understanding of the world exploding. But he’s only 3. Three. He’s going to make messes and do ridiculous things. Why. in. the. heck. is that so hard to remember?

I just want to cut the dude some slack and enjoy the craziness of the 3-almost-4 year old mind.

Starting with remembering all of the hilarious things he’s said and done in recent months.

Like naming this goat “Horny”.

Makes total sense, really. He is definitely horny.

Or winning me over with his incredible charm.

Me: *puts on makeup for the first time today*
Beckett: Mom let me see your face. Does it look pretty?
Me: *turns to look at him*
Beckett: Yep. You look just like Mack.

(Mack, the family dog who foams at the mouth and eats couches. That Mack.)

Or commenting on the beauty of pregnancy.

“You know how we eat to grow bigger? You must have eaten A LOT because you’re almost as big as daddy.”

Or reminding me of the need to start locking the master bathroom door.

Beckett, walking past the shower I’m occupying: Where’s your penis, mommy? *shrugs* Must be under your bottom.
Me: *attempts world record for most body coverage from a single loofah*

And then, you guys, then is

what he says in public.

And by “says” I mean “YELLS AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS”.

(I’d like to take this opportunity to thank myself for passing along what can only be described as the “natural megaphone voice” gene.)

Public proclamations are a whole different ballgame. There is way more at stake than what he says in the comfort of our own, nonjudgemental home.

They’re kind of my favorite in a I-would-rather-die-than-make-eye-contact-with-anyone kind of a way.

Like the confusion over the missing hair.

Beckett: Whoa. What is going on with that man’s head?
Me: Nothing, bud. He’s just bald.
Beckett: Maybe he’s dead.
Me: Definitely alive, just bald.
Beckett: Or dead.
Me: Ok.

Or the spotting of the overly-muscled man.

Beckett: Hey, mom?
Me: Uh huh.
Beckett: That man is very bumpy. Way too bumpy.

Or my most recent favorite, the pool incident.

Beckett: HEY MOM…WHERE’S THAT MAN WITH THE BIG NUTS?
Me: *chokes on chlorinated water* What?!
Beckett: THE MAN WITH THE BIG NUTS. YOU KNOW, THE ONE WHO WAS AT THE POOL THE OTHER DAY.
Me: Ohhhh. I think you mean nets. The maintenance guy with the nets.
Beckett: Yeah, that guy. With the nuts.
Me: Nets. NETSNETSNETS.

It’s just…so great. And horrible. All at the same time.

He is forever inquisitive, incredibly observant, and has the memory of an elephant. Parenting him is becoming scarier and more awesome every day.

But watching him grow and learn and understand and wrestle with life? Watching him learn how to be brave and how to practice self control with hands and feet that never stop moving? Seeing his sense of humor emerge more and more?

Oh, man. It’s good stuff.

I’m thankful for this guy. He makes me laugh a lot.

“MOM. MOM? MOMMY!! WHERE DID YOUR HEAD GO?!” *insert incapacitating giggles*