By Serena of Mommy Cusses

We’ve all seen them. Those cute monthly updates from friends and family documenting all the new and exciting things their baby is doing alongside an adorable photo and stats on their development. Smiling, developing a personality, sitting unsupported, crawling, all those incredible and share-worthy milestones. Usually the whole thing stops by their first birthday. But what if it didn’t?

Here’s what we would see if parents continued to keep track of their children’s stats after the age of 1.

2. 104 Weeks Old

The “terrible twos” are upon us. *sigh* Little guy loves telling us “no-no” and sharting himself in protest of things he doesn’t like.

Learned to walk. Says “mine” a lot. Allergic to sharing and if forced to do so, breaks out in whines. Discovered electrical outlets and electricity as a result. There must be something about the oddly emoji-like holes. Speaking of holes, he plays a mean door stopper while I’m trying to poop. Thubububwubayub, a-thwubububububayub.

Pretends to order pizza on the phone and then glances at me triumphantly like he’s done me the favor of favors, just like his dad.

Finds destruction satisfying and breaks everything within his chubby arm’s reach. Good thing I wasn’t too attached to those fancy frames (they were just extravagant wedding gifts, after all) with pictures of fr…friend? fronds? No, that doesn’t sound right, but I can’t remember the word.

Ever since I became a mother I’ve been drawn to this red liquid in the liquor section at the grocery store. I think I’m gonna try some out soon.

3. 156 Weeks Old

The threes are just as terrible, if not more-so, as the twos.

Starting to talk a lot now. Need to watch my potty mouth because he just hollered “WTF” repeatedly while I was ordering at the drive-thru. Adorable. Speaking of potty, little Jimmy pissed on his Fisher Price barn today, which was literally 2 feet away from the new Sing-Dance-Spin-Cotton-Candy-and-Gift-You-a-Pony Elmo potty we got him.

I spent an hour cooking those cauliflower tots Pinterest swears my picky eater will think are potatoes, but he just aggressively side-eyed me. I’ve gained 5 lbs eating all the food he refuses, and I cry a lot.

Still not sleeping through the night. I oftentimes find him standing next to my bed at 3 a.m. completely silent and still. He’d make a great actor for Children of the Corn or something. Does the Y offer acting classes?

Turns out that red stuff is called wine and my pantry,  a.k.a wine cellar, is almost empty.

4. 208 Weeks Old

If anyone at the store wants to know where the snack aisle went, it’s at my house now. I could cook my child a 5-star meal, and he’d still say he wasn’t hungry and then insist on having a snack.

Started preschool, which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I get three hours, three times a week to kill brain cells in peace or walk around Target aimlessly. A curse because I have to put on pants to drop him off and he says fun things like “whatever” now. Every other month we get to bring home the class pet. The class pet is Swine Flu.

Run-on sentences for days. I don’t remember what quiet sounds like. Loves to fart directly in my eyes, but on the plus side, I get to see the world through rose-colored retinas now. It burns. Has a fascination with buttholes and touches his penis non-stop.

Has deep, meaningful conversations about each and every Skylander character but will not tell me what he did at school.

Drew a picture that looks like a brutal murder scene. Like those drawings you see in horror films. I’m watching him through the cracks of my closet right now, and he’s making blood spatter patterns using red finger paints. So artistic.

Speaking of red, the garage, a.k.a my wine cellar, is almost empty.

5. 260 Weeks Old

Parkour is my son’s preferred method of travel. Remember that whole “teaching him to speak” thing I did the first three years of his life? Well, now if I say a word wrong he corrects me with the snooty disdain of a college English professor.

Likes to ask questions at the rate of 1,000 per hour, many of them causing me to question my own existence.

Coordinates his own playdates now. To be on his friends list you must enjoy fart noises and Minecraft. Enjoys sticking his hand up animal carcasses and giving them voices. Puppets. I’m talking about puppets.

Sings a death metal cover of Paw Patrol.

Parades around in superhero masks with foam swords and shoots at the cat with Nerf guns.

Points out my fat, which is great for my self-esteem. Has learned negotiating skills. I got to clean goldfish crackers off the floor “all by myself,” which is a privilege judging from his tone, while he “will just drink his juice.” I’m beginning to wonder if his ethics are morally sound.

And that’s as far as we’ve gotten, but I’m sure kindergarten will bring about a whole new shit storm to behold.

Speaking of shit storm, I hope the backyard, a.k.a my vineyard, doesn’t get destroyed because I could sure use a glass right about now.

Now let’s all do a yearly stats update on our significant others. You go first.

This post was originally published on Mommy Cusses. 

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About the Author

Serena is a potty mouthed blogger at Mommy Cusses, freelance writer, artist, and mother. Her mission is to make people laugh at the shit storm that is motherhood.