Monday, February 3, 2014

Parenting: Take my advice, cuz I'm sure not using it!

Parenting is like any other skill: It's hard to be good at it. Heck, you have to be pretty good just to be bad at it. I don't know HOW people have the energy to do things outside of raising a kid, let alone more than one. I see my other parent friends stop whatever they're doing every thirty seconds to calmly explain to their toddler why they shouldn't chew on the trash can lid or why their soiled diaper doesn't belong in the refrigerator and I'm just over here yelling, 'WARD QUIT IT," from the couch watching reruns of People's Court in my high school gym shorts lookin like Mama June (that's Honey Boo Boo's mom for the uncultured among you). And some days it takes everything in me just to get out of bed and rub my two brain cells together enough to properly dress and feed Ward without accidentally scooping dishwasher detergent into his bowl (which still might be healthier than some of the cereal he eats). To say I'm an inadequate parent is the understatement of the century.
Ward's impression of me.
They say that exercise helps with raising energy levels, which sounds counter-intuitive to me, but science is one big, cosmic mystery anyway so I tried out a new workout today called T25. I'm proud to say that I dominated my first session with the help of a couple of minor modifications like only doing about seven minutes of it and then spending the other 18 minutes lying on the floor surfing the internet while it continued playing in the background. (We get it, Shaun T., you're sweaty!)

But who knows if I need energy much longer anyway. My baby can now speak in full sentences so I might as well find my sunglasses, put on my darkest shade of lipstick (which is currently a fifteen year old tube of Dr. Pepper flavored Wet n Wild lipgloss, y'all know I keep it poppin) and drive off a cliff cuz mama ain't got a purpose no more. Why do kids grow up? Why don't they stay little and dependent forever like Gary Coleman did? Why is Ward suddenly saying, "Mawmee go daway!" to me like he's a bouncer at the club? I just want to stroke your cheek with the back of my hand while singing "Cat's in the Cradle" in my crying falsetto! You are not a bouncer! You cannot bounce me! If anything, I am the bouncer! I say who stays and who goes, and you sir, my tiny golden-haired cherub with ruddy cheeks and dimpled elbows are STAYING. So bounce that!
But I must accept it: I can't have my cake and eat it too. I can't have a baby who is happy, healthy, and wonderful unless I allow him to grow up. It's like that one time I found the golden AND the silver egg at the campground Easter egg hunt and my mom made me give one of my prizes to some baby who was too slow to find the good eggs. He was just sitting there in his bunny romper crying until I handed over one of MY chocolate bunnies and he was suddenly all better. He didn't even say thanks! I'm sure there's a metaphor for life in there somewhere.

1 comment:

  1. I can really see you in that last picture of Ward