I picked up my son from school yesterday, gave him a hug and a kiss, then said, “I really missed you.”
He hugged me back, and said, “Aw, thanks. I really missed Daddy.”
Forget your troubles; come read about mine
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EmailYesterday was one lousy day. Nobody died and no one was hurt. Nothing tragic happened. But, I was…let’s see, how can I put this delicately for you male readers? Let’s just say, I was…hormonal.
Something has happened since I entered my late thirties. Something bad. For a couple of days a month, I turn into an evil woman. I yell, I fight, and every, little, minuscule thing irritates me. I am supremely grumpy.
On many levels, I feel like a female version of Bruce Banner turning into the Incredible Hulk. There are moments, during these dark days, where I would bet money my skin was turning green. And, I’m pretty sure that I snarl and spit when I talk.
My two, poor children bear the brunt of my vicious Mrs. Hyde. I yell about toys being all over the house, shoes being left in the hall, wet towels on the bathroom floor, and kids who take too long to eat their dinner. That is to say, I get mad about normal stuff which happens every day.
But, on hormonal days, I can’t even stand the normal stuff. I become a raging freak, and what’s really bad is that I KNOW it, yet I can’t stop. For those one or two nights a month, my kids don’t even argue if I send them to bed early.
Last night I desperately tried to lighten the mood. After I grumbled about picking up some clothes off the floor, I sang, “I am grumpy. I am grumpy…” (To the tune of Frère Jacques.)
And, from the other room, my nine year old daughter was brave enough to finish the verse with, “Yes you are! Yes you are!”
At the store recently, I saw a woman pick her son out of a shopping cart, then put his backside up to her nose as she inhaled deeply. I can’t tell you how many times I used to do that, along with grabbing the back of a diaper to judge whether there was a “nugget” inside. And, if I was in a hurry, I would just go ahead and stick my finger right in to feel if it was dirty.
Why is this type of behavior acceptable? Because being a parent gives you free reign to do gross things. When you start a family, you gain children, but you lose your dignity.
The very nature of having kids is rather icky. It may be a miracle, but no matter how a baby comes out, it’s not a pretty sight.
It’s really the day to day parenting that can be rather offensive though. I lost track of the amount of times I’ve licked my thumb to get dirt off a face, and to calm fly-away hair. Not to mention the many instances I slurped formula off my wrist after testing its temperature. Either that, or I just went ahead and wiped it on my pants.
I have come to the rescue as a bug-smasher and dead animal picker-upper. I have caught vomit in my bare hands, and cleaned projectile poop off a wall. It seems to me, being a Mom is much like joining a fraternity.
I have cut toenails which resembled talons, and I’ve pulled a hair out of my gagging daughter’s throat. One of my favorite memories was when she was three, and she decided to go through a spitting phase. I spent an afternoon cleaning up roughly 30 hocker piles off the basement floor.
I have picked boogers with a toothpick, and yanked ear wax out with tweezers. And once, on a playdate at the park, I let my friend’s kid poop in a plastic bag propped up inside my Igloo cooler.
Let there be no doubt…kids are the reason bleach was invented.
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