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Oh, How The Mind Forgets…

My son was such an angel as a toddler. (Or WAS he?)

Some things said around our house this week.

“Wito was much easier to deal with around the house as a toddler, wasn’t he?”

“He never got into anything, and rarely made big messes. What is WITH Wita and her messes?”

“Why does Wita freak out when we brush her teeth? Wito NEVER did that. He loved brushing his teeth!”

Yes, siblings are very often complete opposites, blah blah blah, but what I’m noticing is that I’M the one with the problem. Folks, it seems I’m not remembering the whole story. (Having a 4-year gap between children can do that.)

Case in point, I just found a post I wrote years ago when Wito was approximately Wita’s age, and here are some snippets.

” Wito pounced on the toy basket, throwing every single toy known to man all over the living room. When I asked for help putting toys back, we would toss in a couple for good measure, then scram.”

“He just walks around the house with a milk-filled sippy cup hanging from his clenched teeth, leaving a milk trail over three-quarters of the house.”

“Brushing teeth isn’t so fun anymore. Wito screams so loud the neighbors think he’s getting his toenails ripped out.”

So, yeah. I have completely romanticized my son’s toddlerhood. Apologies to my daughter.

Do you find yourself doing the same thing?

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