Why Moms need Coffee and Wine: Introducing Julian the Wolfbaby.


This is Julian.  He is 34 months old.  He took a bath before bedtime last night and I let his hair dry in a mohawk.  This is how he woke up and no matter how much hair product I use to keep him from looking like Baby Wolverine, this is his look today.  I will use Julian the Wolfbaby as an example of why I need coffee and wine, sometimes at the same time.

I just read a blog on why moms need coffee and wine, but it was too vague.  Nothing is vague while raising a wolfbaby and his older brother, Jude who is 4 1/2.  And these are just the toddlers.  I will explain the need for coffee and wine by bulleting the past 24 hours.

-Julian the Wolfbaby sometimes takes a nap after lunch.  Sometimes means that when I lay down and almost fall asleep too, he will pop his head down the stairs and say “Mom, I have to tell you something.”  The Wolfbaby opened his door (which is difficult), took down the baby gate, and played in my room upstairs for an hour before coming down.   I forgot to drink another cup of coffee and had just closed my eyes.

-We took a ride to the animal shelter to see the kitties.  Jude threw up in the van on the way back.  Fish cracker puke on him, his car seat, his backpack, the van, and my purse.  I need another cup of coffee to do 5 loads of laundry to wash out the vomit.  I will need wine to not care that my vehicle smells like vomit and to not replay the scene in my head while I sleep.

-Julian the Wolfbaby likes to stand on the couch and scream at the top of his lungs.  Like shriek.  My eardrums hurt when he hits the perfect note.  Then he giggles.  I need to go to my safe place in my head, which is anywhere with wine, to not react by screaming back.

-Jude now complains that the van smells bad and then glares at me like I did it.  The thought of having wine tonight keeps me from glaring back.  Almost.

-Anytime I feel like sitting down, reading a book, watching tv., or just staring into space, small bodies or toys or sometimes cats or books come flying at me.  I have been hit in the face unexpectedly so many times  that I duck at hibachi grills.  Coffee keeps me from getting black eyes or stitches.

-Julian rides his tricycle inside.  I have to have quick reflexes to avoid having my ankles bashed.  Only another cup of coffee can make me superhuman fast on my feet.

-While I am fairly certain that Julian has never seen a zombie, he likes to pretend to be one.  He says he wants to hug me and then bites my shoulder.  If my toes are easily available he will latch on.  He bites his brother.  He bites his older sister in the butt as she makes a sandwich.  I wonder if wolf pups bite this much.

-Their father likes to bounce them before bed.  This involves throwing them into the air and shouting “BOING, BOING, BOING” very loudly.  Is there enough wine in the world to not jump every time someone yells BOING or POOPERMAN SAVES THE DAY.  And then if I happen to be on the couch that they want to jump to, I get body slammed.  Until this time, I have been able to calm myself, but now some serious PTSD is kicking in.

-After the boys are in their shared room for the night (We have 7-9 people in a 3 bedroom house depending on the day), Jude starts to yell.  The Wolfbaby has crawled under his bed and is making monster noises.  I need that little bit of leftover caffeine to run up the stairs, pull Julian out from under the bed and threaten him.

-A glass of wine takes the edge of the PTSD and allows me to laugh at the ridiculousness of Jude and Julian the Wolfbaby.  Another glass makes me want to sleep because I’m too tired to stay up any longer.  I stumble upstairs and check on the boys one more time because Julian hasn’t learned blankets yet.  I kick something solid in the dark of their room and discover Julian the Wolfbaby asleep face down on the floor.

-A 45 year old should not have children so small and energetic and downright maniacal.  Maybe when I was 20.  Although I seem to remember lots of coffee and wine with the girls too.  It’s all kind of hazey, just the way motherhood is supposed to be.



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