I employ discouragement to people who want kids to have them
because they are “fun,” “cute,” “sweet,” and “loving.” Certainly children may display these
characteristics, but they also show other unsavory traits like narcissism,
selfishness, meanness, and tiresomeness, among others, at most times. You will have to deal with these difficult
people daily, and in return, you may feel hopeless, helpless, and tired, and
this will change you. In big ways.
Before I had kids, I was confident. Now I believe I’d mess up a conversation with
a drunken Thai hooker. My waning
confidence is in response to years of double guessing my parenting decisions because
of what has failed miserably in practice and what all the parenting books tell
me I’m doing wrong. Which is pretty much
everything.
Before I had kids, I was youthful and gorgeous. I was.
Now I’m a little stretched out.
Worn and dry skin replaced the pinkish elasticized miracle that covered
every speck of my body. My teeth were
white, my hair shone, and I had a light in my eyes that I haven’t seen
since 2001. Now my hair is graying, and not
in a gorgeous Stacy London stripe way.
Before you say, “well, that’s just aging,” it is NOT. I see childless people who are my age and
older, and they look exactly like I did before I became pregnant. Exactly.
I was ready for everything.
Now, I’m ready for nothing.
Really. I leave the house for
anything 5 minutes after I should have been there. That’s okay only because I don’t go anywhere
that it’s crucial to be on time. No one
at the grocery store stops you and says you can’t buy ham because you were
supposed to be there an hour ago.
Laundry could be done in one day. After children, this notion is a complete
fantasy. Likewise for a clean
house. My bathrooms haven’t been all
clean at the same time since the late ‘90’s.
And two months ago, when we got a new range, I found a baby toy under
the old one. Let me do the math for you: that’s
like ten years of not cleaning under the stove.
Go ahead. Judge my dirt. I already have.
I wasn’t afraid of much.
I could go out at any hour of any day, put myself into questionable
situations, and walk against traffic on the wrong side of the road without
fear. Now, an unfamiliar vehicle cruises
through the neighborhood and I lock my doors and hide in the back for fear that
it contains a terrorist or child-snatcher, or worse, a college kid selling
magazines.
I didn’t get mad about stupid things. Before, rugs were dirty and I washed
them. Drinks got spilled and I cleaned
them up. Now, two TVs are on in the
house at the same time and I flip out because of the noise. Each instance of spilled milk results in at
least one person crying. On the upside,
I no longer get upset when things get broken, but is it really an improvement
to have a house full of broken junk?
Despite all this life change, I love my kids. They are loving, fun, cute, and sweet. I would not trade them in or give them away,
or even sell them to the highest bidder.
They are often my cheerleaders, and they show me love when I am at my
most unlovable. They teach me things I
never thought about learning, and they are forgiving. They are my peeps.
It’s true that I can’t imagine life without them, and this
is not such a bad thing.
*******
No comments:
Post a Comment