When Your Baby Becomes A Kid

Having a baby is the most life-altering thing any human being can do.  Man, woman; gay, straight; single, married, it doesn’t matter.  Whether it’s your genetic material or someone else’s, having a baby in the house is going to fuck your day up.  These days you can’t throw a rock and not hit a blog post or book or article about the trials and tribulation of having a baby.  But no one talks about what happens when they’re not babies anymore. I mean we all know teenagers suck, but what about those wonderful school-aged years when the only they’re doing at the speed of light is learning what not to do. Not to mention, being influenced by other kids.  Correction, other, shittier kids. You know longer have full control over what they learn and how they learn it, which totally sucks!

My oldest son recently turned 8.  I, believing the lies told me by my parental predecessors, thought things would be getting easier by now. We’d be able to have a wrongmeaningful conversation, common interests, and even a developing sense of mutual respect.  Boy was I wrong. What I got were conversations that contain the word “um” approximately 8,000 times about people I’ve never met and things I’ve never heard of, the constant demand to fain enthusiasm 24/7, and a never-ending need to talk myself out of striking a child.  You spend years teaching your child to talk.  Then, you immediately regret that decision.  They never stop talking.  Never.  Ever.

now I get itHe’s reached the age where he is trying desperately to understand adult conversation and nuances. However, he has the attention span of the fruit fly so he zones out halfway through the answer to a question he just asked.  So when he says the words “Ooooh! Now I get it.”  That means he has no idea what the fuck I’m talking about. He’s just moved on to whatever random thought just came into his head like, I wonder if now is a good time to bring up that thing I did at Grandma’s house  months ago that has nothing to do with what we’re talking about right now.

And I swear to God listening to this kid tell a story should be illegal under the Geneva Convention. It is the most torurous experience in my life.  “Mom. I, um, went to Jack’s house and um we played this game um that has this um thing and you have to do this other thing to  um make this one thing happen.  It’s just like the one I played at um I don’t remember his name’s house. You remember?”  Ummmmmmm……what?!?! For Christ’s sake.  I would almost rather work at a college bar on a Friday night full of Sorority bar crawls that’s four deep with dumb bitches who have never had anything stronger than Malibu….almost.  But of course I can’t tell him that.  I have to pretend to be interested and care, because he needs validation.  I need a boob job and a wine of the month membership, but you don’t see me bitching!

So, if you’ve just had a baby, enjoy these moments when they sleep all the time and don’t speak.  Trust me the spit up and shit is worth it.  Just remember, the day is coming when you will have to interact.  And they won’t be like those cool kids on sitcoms.  Rudy Huxtable isn’t real. (Too soon?)  Kids don’t make witty jokes or say the funny thing at the right time.  They will, however, rip ass in the middle of the grocery store and laugh relentlessly.  So, it’s not all doom and gloom.

As for me and my first born, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  The other day I made some smart ass comment and he goes,  “Is that sarcasm?”  I’ve never been more proud as a partent.  He’s such a great kid with all kinds of creativity.  He’s sweet and kind and thoughtful and a great big brother.  He has more love and generosity in his little finger than most people do in their whole bodies.  But if this phase doesn’t pass and soon, I would recommend buying stock in duct tape and Pinot Grigio.

Pinot Grigio

 

 

English Degrees and Parenthood Don’t Get Along

Despite the several typos that are in this post alone, I actually have a degree in English Studies from Illinois State University.  I don’t know why I included the institution.  An English major is pointless regardless of where you got it. The only thing it is good for is creating instances in your life that drive you crazy to no end.

For example, reading anything on Social Media becomes the single most painful experience of your life.  People, one more time, “Their fucking shit is over there. They’re going to have to fucking pick it up.  Hope that helped.  In addition to these obvious errors, there are others that drive people like me insane. I’m not going to go through all of them because I’m sure you’ve already zoned on my nerdiness.

kitten

I will, however, mention my favorite; less vs fewer.  I know, I know, no one cares. Nonetheless, here is very easy way to remember. If you are talking about a tangible object or objects that can be counted, it’s fewer.  If you’re talking about a more obscure concept or something that can’t be counted individually, it’s less.  Example, Jimmy has banged fewer girls than Johnny.  However, Jimmy is less itchy than Johnny.  See the difference?  Ok, I feel better getting that off my chest.

Being a mom and having an English degree could be the most torturous thing ever.  I don’t know how English teachers do it. My oldest is currently in Second Grade and he is all about reading out loud to me.  While I know it is great for him to do so, I want to stick a flesh-eating cockroach in my ear every. single. time.  I love him, but fuck.  I could understand if he was actually sounding out every word like I know he knows how to do, but no. That would be too easy.  He has to dick around looking at the picture and trying to guess what each word is based on the first letter and what he thinks is going on in the picture.  FUCK!  And to add insult to injury, he insists on chewing gum from the moment he gets home until the moment he eats dinner and beyond.  So, he’s half-ass reading while chewing his gum like I just brought him in from pasture.

So, he’s guessing what each word is instead of just reading like I know he knows how to do, he’s chewing a piece of gum like it’s cud, AND like every other waking minute of this kids life, he isn’t sitting still. Today, he actually got a paper cut from just reading a book.

Allow me to paint a picture, he is about 3/4 of the way throw a book we got from the library.  Great.  Feeling like I’m nailing this whole parenting thing.  I look over and he has the book on the couch while he is sitting on the floor facing the couch.  I look back a few seconds later, and he has one leg up on the couch.  A few seconds after that, his head is on the couch, perpendicular to the book.  What. The. Fuck. stupid

“Are you seriously reading that book right now?”

“Yeah.”

Then I hear,  “OUCH!”

“What did you do?”

He actually said the following words, “The book scratched me.”

Being the stellar mother that I am, I told him it served him right for reading a book like that, asked him what was wrong with him, and made him sit up to finish reading the book. He stumbled through the remaining pages all while chewing his gum like a long-lost valley girl.

“Did I do good?”

“You sure did! Why don’t you go get a snack.” I react  to my son finishing a book the same way I do to the end of a really intense workout.  “Oh thank you, sweet Baby Jesus!!”

 

thank jesus

I love my son to death, and I want to be a good parent, and I of all people know the importance of him reaching as much as possible.  However, a human can only tollerate that kind of torture for so long. After a few cocktails, I’ll regret having such a negative reaction to his reading…until tomorrow when he wants to read again. I’m convinced this is my punishment for correcting everyone’s grammar at the bar for all those years.  Still not sorry.