I Have a Five Year Old…

I have a five year old. And a two year old- let’s not forget about her, but for purposes of life going to fast, I have a five year old. This is crazy to me. I know many of you can say “I have a 12 year old”, or “I have a 21 year old”, or even my mom, who can say “I have a 37 year old”, but I’m sure you remember the wonder of your first child turning five and think about that sweet, beautiful baby in your arms and how they grow so, so fast.

Then they turn one and that’s when the real cuteness starts. Then they’re two and the trouble starts. You get past the terrible twos, the terrorist threes, the what I call “hurt with intent” fours, and I thought at five you can take a breath now that your kid is so mature and getting ready for kindergarten only to realize that five is now the worst and OMG DOES IT EVER GET BETTER!

I wanted to get through this birthday without yelling but that didn’t happen. Olivia decided that instead of sleeping, she would sneak paint from one of her presents, paint all over her bed, and ruin a super cute outfit my mom got her that I wanted her to wear the next day. Not only was she not sleeping, she was awake at 10pm and making a complete mess of herself and her room. Maybe I could have stopped it if I wasn’t such a lazy parent. I mean, there was a point when Rich and I were on the couch watching 90 day fiancé and I heard the bathroom sink go on.

“Olivia, what are you doing? You should be sleeping” I called from the couch.

“Just washing my hands!”

I could have got up and went to find out why she needed to wash her hands when sleeping, but I thought maybe she was just being hygienic, or sleepwalking. I certainly didn’t think she was pulling a Picasso in her room.

So she got yelled at.

Also, this is more the fault of adults than the actual kid. We get our children gifts that are way more mature than we think. Like paint. Or an LOL doll that has sand that’s apparently supposed to be kitty litter. Or something called a Nom Nom that, when water is added, blows up strawberry smelling crap that gets everywhere and gives my husband an aneurysm. The worst, which is the fault of mainly myself, is play makeup kits, because then my two year old gets into it and this is what happens:

Five year old toys around a two year old is a recipe for disaster. Brooke will get into anything. If it looks like it can get messy, she’s all for it. It’s like a magnet for her. There are so many times I look at my two year old and think how incredibly smart and clever she is, way more than her sister was at that age, then she sticks a fork in an outlet and I can’t believe how stupid she can be. Olivia never once tried to electrocute herself, never grabbed a pair of scissors the one second I put them down and ran with them, and never once thought “oooh there’s a car going really fast! I’m going to run straight for it!”. Sure, Olivia is a now five year old that can talk back, give me attitude, and thinks she can do whatever she wants, but at least she has survival instinct. Brooke- that’s going to be a learned trait, and learned the hard way.

So, yeah, Olivia is officially five. Around June of this year, Olivia wanted to know why her birthday was taking so long, and she wanted me to know she wasn’t pleased about this.

“Well, your birthday comes once a year, which is why it’s special, and yours happens to be in December. You wait just as long as everyone else for their birthday.”

“But I want it now!”

She got it. And this morning, when my newly five year old woke up in her own bed instead of mommy’s, she said “Mommy I’m five! And I slept in my own bed! And I can’t wait to be six years old!”

To have that naïveté of children, to wish for more birthdays and have the excitement of getting older. It’s sweet and precious. So I told her “Olivia, you just turned five, so just be happy and ride it out. Besides, the more birthdays you have, the closer you are to death, so just chill.”

Parenting win.

Happy birthday Olivia! (And please don’t mind the messy house. I’m lazy and have kids)

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