There are some inevitables when you become a parent: You will never again get enough sleep. You will spend far too much time focusing on the excrement of your children. And way too many people will tell you these are the best years of your life.
Let us take, for example, a random moment on our recent road trip. On our way home, we stopped at a Waffle House in Delaware for breakfast, because we are ALL ABOUT the class.
A. and Cubby went inside while I nursed Charlie in the car. Then I changed him on the seat of the car, discovering as I did so that he had soaked through to his onesie (damned disposable diapers) and so needed a complete outfit change. As I was doing this, an older couple came out of the restaurant and got in the car next to me. The man in the driver's seat rolled down his window and called out, "You won't believe it, but these are the best years of your life."
Now, in the drinking game I just made up, hearing these words means you take a shot of the liquor of your choice. One shot for each child you care for. That means that in this instance, I should have taken two shots of gin. Had I done so, I would've been much better prepared for the fifteen minutes after we got back in the car, during which Cubby screamed and cried because he only had one shoe on*, and Charlie screamed and cried because he was in the car and he doesn't like the car.
Sadly, I had not had any shots whatsoever--it being ten in the morning and all--and so I just had to turn the radio up in a futile attempt to drown out my screaming progeny.
But remember: These are the best years of your life! Made better by liquor. And a seriously resilient sense of humor.
* I don't know either. He didn't want me to take the other shoe off; he only wanted me to put the missing shoe on. Something I was unwilling to attempt while traveling 60 miles an hour. Such is the irrationality of toddlers.