On most days if you’d walk into my house, you might think you’ve walked back in time to when dinosaurs and caveman roamed the Earth.
My 3yo is shirtless and probably foraging food off the floor. I’m probably carrying my baby around on my hip as he’s flailing his arms around and drooling.
Often times we communicate in grunts, screams, visual cues and body language. There’s crumbs from crackers and smears of jelly all over my house. Not to mention there’s probably a pee diaper left somewhere within the mess on my floor.
I wonder if scientists would like to study us.
You see, living with small children is like living with villagers from a remote island. They’re completely uncivilized. They try to communicate with you but do it by screaming. When they eat, they prefer to use their hands instead of silverware and they’re always in need of a bath.
Some days, I can’t help but to look at my life and think “what the hell happened?” Before kids, I would have never let my house look like an episode of Hoarders. But now, I just flat out don’t have time.
When someone comes by unannounced, and I have to allow them in to my science experiment of a home, I shudder to think what is going through their heads.
Are they thinking “I better wash my hands when I leave here” or “I hope these kids have had their shots”? Well, I know I’m thinking those questions at least.
One day down the road I know I’ll be able to tidy up my house and vacuum or mop my floors more regularly. But for now, I guess I’ll live in filth with my aboriginal children and just have fun for the time being. At least now they want to spend time with me. And I guess I can always look for that pee diaper another day.