Hello, I'm Stacy. Meet my kids.
It is fair to say that my two children are daredevils. When Cole was little, I wanted to teach him to be tough when he fell and not to cry over small things, aka, not to be a wussy boy. So, the first time he fell, I hit the ground and said "Boom!" and it became our joke from then on out. With Stella, there is no boom because the girl doesn't cry when she falls. She is a fearless climbing machine, with the dexterity of a monkey and the determination of an athlete on steroids.
Since my husband works and spends a lot of time out of town on business trips, I'm forced to take the monkeys to places like the grocery store, where I hold my breath and hope that I can get out as fast as I can with as little damage as possible. I get a lot of stares. It could be the tattoos, or it could be that I'm super petite at 5'2" and 95 lbs. (Don't hate, it's genetics, bitches.) My guess is that these old folks who stick their nose in my business think I'm a "young mother" who must be "clueless" and "needs advice and wisdom." HA. (I'm 31.)
It happens in convenience stores, in restaurants, at the checkout line in Kroger. "You sure have your hands full there." "You got yourself a handful with that one," and depending on the day and who's acting out more depends on which one is pointed at. This week some stranger in a gas station told me Stella was going to be a handful... Why? Because she was standing still looking at the chips with a gleam in her eye? She didn't mess up your shelves, lady, and she even politely said goodbye when we left.
I'm never quite sure how to respond to that statement. Before I had kids I would have let my birdie finger fly and my lips let go of hateful words, but now I have to think about my actions in front of my two children. Then again, before I had kids I guess my hands weren't so full. Sometimes it's anger that churns, paranoid these strangers are thinking I'm a bad mother.. and for what? They don't know me. They can't simply observe my children in a five-minute span to determine they are "a handful."
I've come to peace with the fact that, yes, I do indeed have my hands full. My 14-month-old daughter is breaking all stereotypes by outdoing her brother in acrobatics before he could even walk, and my 3-year-old is so smart that it scares me sometimes. While out of town this week, my daughter tried to take some concrete stairs alone and my son ran face-first into the pool table's corner. Both of them look like they've been beaten, so I've started telling people "I didn't do it" when they look at me.
So yes, I have my hands full. But so what? I love it, and I wouldn't change it for the world. I'm a fantastic mother and I'm handling them just fine, thankyouverymuch.