The Worst Roommate in the World

A friend once told me that kids are the worst roommates in the world.

Boy, was she right.

Over the course of twenty four hours, Stella proved my friend right. After waking the Papa and me at about 5:30 am (Example One) and demanding a forty five minute story session, she deftly swiped everything atop my bedside table – books, lotion, picture and glass of water – off and onto the floor (Example Two).

She then decided to take the garbage out of the waste bin in the bathroom and tried to put it in the bathtub. Filling things is fun, right? (Example Three) She did, however, redeem herself on this one since she then quickly morphed into her let-me-put-it-in-the-garbage-myself-or-I-will-throw-a-total-fit mood and cleaned a good bit of the mess herself.

She then needed her diaper changed. I’ll let this little example pass since, well, you know.

At breakfast, my sweet cherub decided to spill all her milk onto her tray and then attempted to feed her oatmeal to our cat Vinnie. (Example Five) Fast forward to that evening where Stella decided that throwing marinara sauce all over the floor would be a decidedly valid lesson in physics. (Example Ten – remember we’ve fast forwarded here.)

Oh, and I haven’t even mentioned the emotionally unpredictable nature of this wee roommate. On good days, a full belly and rested head gives us some wiggle room as far as emotional health. On bad days, I honestly feel like I live with Sybil. (Example… oh, forget it.) On those tough days, Stella does feel like a crummy roommate. I find myself walking away, muttering silently in my head “it’s a good thing you’re cute, buster.”

But this is the thing: it always feels totally worth it. The mess. The piles. The frenzy. The complete irrationality of her whole self. Don’t get me wrong – there are days when I have to sit myself down and explain why it’s all worth it, and there are other days when I’ve earnestly looked for the exit sign and a parachute. But I always find myself convinced by my little pep talks, and I find comfort knowing that my parachute takes the simple form of a Saturday afternoon to myself. More and more, I can hear a calm and stable voice in my head telling me that this super needy, messy and unpredictable stage is going to pass before I know it and that she’s not doing any of this crap to bug me. In fact, she pulls most of these shenanigans because she feels loved and supported enough to discover and explore freely in our little family.

So she’s not the ideal roommate. I know this for sure. And one of my goals as a Mama is to raise this child so that she eventually becomes a roommate someone jumps over mountains to adore and cherish (as we do now). And hey, I really do have to remind myself that she’s still better than many roommates I’ve had in life. She’s worlds better than the one lovely lass I shared space with in college who, after dropping out, moved into our coat closet and then had the nerve to complain about the rest of us making noise in the living room at two in the afternoon. That’s right – two in the afternoon. Oh, and did I mention she actually peed in my boyfriend’s cup because she just didn’t have the energy to walk to the bathroom. Yeah, Stella may color on the table and need a new outfit after a dramatic blowout, but she’s better than that. And she’s definitely cuter too.