trading places

Sometimes, when I am dying to have that 2 minutes to poo, 2 minutes to eat, 2 minutes of peace, I wish to trade places with the kids. If I could, I'd pick me to be in the shoes of my almost-2 year old. I don't want to be 4 because 4 is...full of 4 year-old responsibilities. I won't be able to get my mom to wear my shoes for me because she knows that I know how to. Or, I won't be able to get my mom to carry me because she knows that I can run if I wanted to.

But it's entirely different with a tiny toddler -- I can pretend not to know or even walk s..oo...slowly that my mom will have to pick me up if she was rushing. Or I can make a mess when I am eating because my fine motor-skills aren't that well developed yet. You see -- I can make my mom do ALL of the things I don't want to simply because...I am a tiny tod. Oh and I can whine all I want and she won't have a reason to yell at me because...say it with me now - I am a tiny tod.

See..isn't it just the right age to be? I would want to be a tiny tod forever. And you know who I won't want to trade places with? Manufacturing workers. Yep, manufacturing jobs just isn't my cup of tea. Laborious and tiresome - how do these people cope? OK, so being a "mom" isn't any better but since I am at it, I might as well just stick to it, right? Besides, I have come this far - there ain't no turning back. Uh-huh, no sir-ree..