Breath

I am ready to collapse under my purple sheets and hide, but I suppose that comes with toddlers' territory. Cast of characters: a two-year-old girl slicked down with tangible charisma and smiles, a three-year-old boy who is either on and explosively energetic or off and non responsive, and two weathered parents carrying tonnes of love and diapers. Needless to say, after searching for "the girl" (a statue in my grandparents' library) more than twenty times successively, playing pirate ships - "ON THE PIRATE SHIP, NOT ON THE SHARK BOAT!" - next to a tray covered in a collective of the most breakable pottery in the house, and falling asleep on the couch only to be awaken by a pillow thwacking against my head and an infectious giggle, I am not only thoroughly exhausted but also thoroughly intoxicated by the way my cousins didn't once stop to worry about the extreme darkness we drove off into after saying goodbye in pajamas.

I can't even pretend that I could take care of C and O alone; my sleep deficit would drown me first. Perhaps it is pretentious to even dream of chasing parenthood as though it is as automatic as adulthood. But then again, I was the only one who was willing to play catch for the millionth time. I was the first one to tickle their feet. Although I found solace in the remarkably calm dog whenever I lost it, I never let O out of my sight. I'd say I've got the makings of a loving guardian... just as soon as I purchase a couple hundred bottles of 5 Hour Energy. Good night.