Adulting is hard. Especially during crazy social and political issues concerning us today. I usually steer clear of controversial topics until I can figure out a way to put a humorous spin on them. Since I can’t, now whenever anyone attempts to discuss the issues of the world with me, my response is “I’m only worried about two things. Bubbles and farts.”
A little while ago, I had a three year old. Yup. There I was laying on the delivery table and out popped a three year old. Or at least it feels that way considering how fast time has flown by. Now that she’s not a baby (in her eyes), the world isn’t new to her. She is so eager to learn new activities and wants to be so independent. At the same time, she needs your help with EVERYTHING. In my mind, since you’re so independent, you need to figure it out for yourself. Hey Jax, if you’re hungry, go find your own food. Dirty? Here’s some soap. Here’s a rag. Make it work. And all these “complicated” things she can do, except when it comes to bubbles. Bubbles to my three year old are like magic, sparkling circles of happiness raining down upon her. No I’m not being cheesy. She is seriously obsessed with bubbles. But cant figure out how to blow them. I’ve spent hours a day for weeks trying to help her understand the concept of blowing them to no avail. So unless I blow these bubbles, she is missing out on her magic, sparkling circles of happy rain. So by association, that makes me the happiness maker.
I recently had a baby two months ago. To babies EVERYTHING is brand new. Sometimes as parents, and people in general, we forget that fact. They don’t know that if they’re sleepy all they have to do is go to sleep. Or at least for some reason, mine doesn’t know that. Instead she will constantly cry to the point where don’t even hear it anymore. I’m pretty sure my neighbors believe I’m deaf or she’s crying due to abandonment. But no she’s usually just sleepy. Or probably crying because I actually had to put her down so I can do a simple necessary thing like, hmm…I don’t know, pee? But one of the funniest things that scares my baby to the point that she literally jumps from being startled is her farts. Something about the noise or feel scares her to death. It doesn’t matter if she’s sleeping, eating or even enjoying tummy time. A fart scares the living daylights out of her. Which means I have to comfort her when the scary fart monster comes blasting out her butt. So now I guess that makes me the fart monster killer.
So here I am. Happiness Maker and Fart Monster Killer. All of that probably seems super cute too. Reality check here. No it’s not cute! Dealing with a scared fart child and a stressed out bubble fanatic is serious business. One is crying because of something that doesn’t even hurt, but something she just can’t control. The other is acting like if I don’t blow these bubbles for her life as she knows it will end. If that doesn’t sound bad to you, it’s because you haven’t experienced it. Try blowing bubbles for my record two hours and 37 minutes in one sitting, while holding a baby who farted probably 12 times during that session. So I just need something simple in life. I need for my girls to not grow up in a world with real live fart monsters and permanently popped happiness bubbles. It seems like that’s all anyone wants to focus on. As for me, I’m only worried about two things. Bubbles and farts.
Kamillya Hunter signing off (because I’m determined to break that personal bubble blowing baby fart record)
Kamillya Hunter is the owner and founder of Spa Analytics. She encourages independent owners to focus on The Details That Matter when running a business. She’s a mom of two, an army wife, author and a self diagnosed “Spa Junkie” who lives, eats, breathes and sleeps the personal service industry.