I’m an only child. That was by design. I am used to space. I love space. Not the ones with galaxies and monkeys in the cube (cue theme music from 2001: A Space Odyssey). But spaaaace.
I have one child. One husband. That too is by design. Too much of a good thing and your head explodes and all that jazz.
The husband and offspring are pals. They fight. They roughhouse. They bicker. All. Near. Me. When. I. Am. Being. Spacey.
I keep the lights off, put on mellow music and veg out. And the bed suddenly dips. Or there are upheavals in it and a small body hurtles itself onto the bed and there are quakes all over.
Then the larger body hurtles in after the smaller one and there is tectonic movement. And lo and behold…NO SPACE pour moi.
I blame my parents. If I had 5 siblings I’d be used to lunacy by now instead of suffering through it sporadically.