And Parents Are Like Giant Confused Pig Wrestling Masochistic Magicians

watching a parent of a toddler/mobile infant is funny, too. 
we are twitchy barriers to them flinging themselves off and toward things, so we are also constantly moving, just on the defense instead of offense. without spilling the (probably cold by now) cup of coffee we’re holding, we can one-handedly take a snot-covered contorted angry pig-beast from the edge of the couch and gently deposit him safely on the floor. we also *magically* make the sharp thing they want to play with disappear while placing a safe thing in their little paws using some very advanced slight of hand stuff and techniques in distraction. 
and we probably come off as extremely confused and maybe a little dumb since we’re always asking them questions we really should know the answer to….”what’s this, henry?” (it’s my nose, moron. geez! aren’t you in medicine?). “are we going to see grandpa and grandma now, henry?” (well, apparently, or you wouldn’t have bothered to bring it up, now would you?) “are you such a big boy?” (seriously, folks, you’re giving me a complex).

and we really do just have to laugh. and acknowledge that they’ve made us a bit masochistic. because these tiny tweakers are beating us about the face and neck while smashing a handful of avocadosweetpotatobananablackbeans into our hair and screaming bloody murder all the while…and, frankly, we can’t get enough of any of it.

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