Hangry Dictators

As we sit a week out from the girls first birthday, and delve deeper into the land of toddler-hood, I'm continually realizing they aren't babies anymore. I think I've figured out what lays at the core of toddlers, what makes them tick, if you will. A wild, untameable beast slumbers within every toddler. It's name is hunger. You dare not wake it, for you know that once you do, it will unleash the unwieldy and insatiable hangry dictator from what was once your sweet child. 

Jo has always been a tiny, hangry dictator when it's come to hunger. She had horrific reflux in her earlier months, and I think the constant hunger her empty belly left her with just stuck with her. Margot, on the other hand, was always a grazer. While Jo would knock out a bottle in one sitting, Margot would nurse it over the span of an hour. You'd think that would translate well when entering toddlerdom, but you thought wrong. Jo gets hangry at fairly reliable intervals throughout the day, so it rarely catches me off guard. Miss Mo is like a loose canon. She'll be happy and talking sweet one moment, and then screaming at me like she's never eaten before to "cook faster, slave!". 

Then there's the slightly more subdued side of the hungry monster. The one that will thoughtfully and patiently scavenge and survey the carpet for scraps of food (or whatever they find, really). I find myself turning around only to see them shoving some unknown object into their mouths, to which I utter "what did you just put in your mouth?!". Like they're going to tell me. Or open their mouth, for that matter. And they're fast, too! It is physically impossible for me to watch them both at all times to ensure no foreign objects pass through their tiny slobber soaked lips. 

This is a double pain, not because there are two of them (ok maybe a little), but because Margot is so deathly afraid of the vacuum that I only use it when absolutely necessary. So here I am crawling around on the carpet, channelling my inner scavenging hangry monster, so I can snatch up anything that isn't a Yogi melt or puff and avoid one of my kids popping a penny or hair pin in their mouth. It's a glamorous job, but somebody has to do it!

To all those mamas out there who are currently living with a hangry little dictator, keep fighting the good fight. Think of all the glorious black mail stories and pictures we'll have when we successfully get through those oh-so dramatic toddler years! Until next time, stand strong in solidarity!