I started writing last night... I just couldn't finish my entry.
Spawnling's wake-up cues were a little off yesterday morning.. I tried to write an ode to 4:30am, but I just didn't have it in me. Incidentally, television is better from 5-6am than it is from 4-5am. You can't even get 80's shows with actors who are so bad in their chosen careers that you're thankful they became actors and not doctors. At 4:30am it's all paid programs about everything from hot-hot-girls-want-you-through-this-local- party-number-no-really-they're-hot to I-make-$12000-a-month-sitting-on-my-ass-in-my-mansion-check-out- this-website.
They're the equivalent of email spam, except they cost a lot more to transmit and are far more annoying. They deserve eighth wonder of the world status, because despite their lame spokespeople (usually retired bad actors from the 80's), false claims and horrible time slots, they seem to actually work. People must order from them or they wouldn't exist anymore. Just as people must click on hyperlinks in email spam or there would be no more need for spam folders.
Apparently there's a rash of brain-eating zombies out there, sneaking into people's homes and sucking all but the stupidity lobe out of their skulls.
You don't think there's a stupidity lobe? I beg to differ.
Anyway, a long series of comedic errors later, I found myself with barely any sleep. It's hard to function with no sleep. And no caffeine. Remember that funny part?
I then spent the rest of the day driving. Yep. I drove from the North end to the West end to the South End, back to the North end, back to the South End, back to the West end and back home again. In that time we drove Geekster to work, visited the Wailings, picked Intrepid up from school, went to speech therapy, picked Geekster up from work and drove home. We don't normally drive the Lanky Wonder to work, but I wanted a latte anyway so I figured what the diddly doo. It was the start of a fun, yet busy day.
Anyway, that's all over now.
Know what else is all over? Being a mom to three children with single digit ages.
Today, Intrepid is 10. Double digits. I am officially old and my child is officially a 'big kid'.
Isn't it funny how self-centered parents can really be? While Gutsy, Spawnling and I were out shopping for gifts at the Old People's Maul this morning, we ran into The Madre and The Madre's Madre, who were also out doing the same. My mom said 'Can you believe he's 10? He's so old! And you're 30... and I'm... 50...'
It all comes down to how it affects us, not them. Self-centeredness at its finest. But isn't having children incredibly selfish in the first place? Don't start on the 'I want to better the world by raising good human beings' stuff. That's all very noble, but it's an afterthought, isn't it? The real reason we put our bodies and minds through absolute hell is because we like baby clothes. It's really that simple.
It wasn't the baby clothes, you say? Must have been the all the Playskool commercials. You like the shiny, loud things you can only justify purchasing if you have a drooling, bald person to play them with.
Not the toys, either? Must be the nursery. Admit it. Even people like me who co-sleep with their babies until they're ready to leave home like an excuse to decorate. Pinks, blues, purples, pale yellows and greens... Teddy bear wallpaper, expensive wooden rocking horse in the corner, a baby monitor you'll never use because your baby has the lungs of a heavy metal frontman, ridiculously small catcher's mit on the change table you'll also never use because it'll be full of laundry you don't have time to put away... And when they get older you get to go to Ikea and redecorate all over again. Teehee.
Still shaking your head because none of those scenarios apply? Tell me something, young one... Were you one of those people who was horribly teased at school? Did mommy cry for daddy while daddy was out on the town with his mistress, Guiness? Not much attention paid to you, was there? Poor thing. Some therapy could help, you know. Or maybe you could join a social club of some kind and meet new people. Or, hey... I know! You could have a baby! Yes. A baby will love you. It'll even love unconditionally.
And after that baby's born, and you've taken pictures of him in the cutesy outfits, played with all his new Christmas toys, showed off his nursery to all your friends on the interweb mommy's board, and smiled to yourself when you're the person he cries for when he falls down, you can start thinking about how he's going to lead the UN one day.
Intrepid's arrival wasn't a planned one. We were too poor to buy cute clothes, big toys or any new nursery furniture. We were too young and ignorant to think about whether or not our child would leave a positive mark on the world.
Good thing he has. He means so much to so many people. Especially his mama, who couldn't be more proud to have such a wonderful eldest son. I had no clue what I was getting into at nineteen when I got pregnant. I just knew that our baby would bring us so much joy and love.
Selfish? Hell yes. But he does love me unconditionally, you know. They all do. I have three little men in my life that will find me beautiful even when I'm a nasty, old woman swatting at pigeons with my walker.
Happy birthday, my big guy.
Spawnling's wake-up cues were a little off yesterday morning.. I tried to write an ode to 4:30am, but I just didn't have it in me. Incidentally, television is better from 5-6am than it is from 4-5am. You can't even get 80's shows with actors who are so bad in their chosen careers that you're thankful they became actors and not doctors. At 4:30am it's all paid programs about everything from hot-hot-girls-want-you-through-this-local- party-number-no-really-they're-hot to I-make-$12000-a-month-sitting-on-my-ass-in-my-mansion-check-out- this-website.
They're the equivalent of email spam, except they cost a lot more to transmit and are far more annoying. They deserve eighth wonder of the world status, because despite their lame spokespeople (usually retired bad actors from the 80's), false claims and horrible time slots, they seem to actually work. People must order from them or they wouldn't exist anymore. Just as people must click on hyperlinks in email spam or there would be no more need for spam folders.
Apparently there's a rash of brain-eating zombies out there, sneaking into people's homes and sucking all but the stupidity lobe out of their skulls.
You don't think there's a stupidity lobe? I beg to differ.
Anyway, a long series of comedic errors later, I found myself with barely any sleep. It's hard to function with no sleep. And no caffeine. Remember that funny part?
I then spent the rest of the day driving. Yep. I drove from the North end to the West end to the South End, back to the North end, back to the South End, back to the West end and back home again. In that time we drove Geekster to work, visited the Wailings, picked Intrepid up from school, went to speech therapy, picked Geekster up from work and drove home. We don't normally drive the Lanky Wonder to work, but I wanted a latte anyway so I figured what the diddly doo. It was the start of a fun, yet busy day.
Anyway, that's all over now.
Know what else is all over? Being a mom to three children with single digit ages.
Today, Intrepid is 10. Double digits. I am officially old and my child is officially a 'big kid'.
Isn't it funny how self-centered parents can really be? While Gutsy, Spawnling and I were out shopping for gifts at the Old People's Maul this morning, we ran into The Madre and The Madre's Madre, who were also out doing the same. My mom said 'Can you believe he's 10? He's so old! And you're 30... and I'm... 50...'
It all comes down to how it affects us, not them. Self-centeredness at its finest. But isn't having children incredibly selfish in the first place? Don't start on the 'I want to better the world by raising good human beings' stuff. That's all very noble, but it's an afterthought, isn't it? The real reason we put our bodies and minds through absolute hell is because we like baby clothes. It's really that simple.
It wasn't the baby clothes, you say? Must have been the all the Playskool commercials. You like the shiny, loud things you can only justify purchasing if you have a drooling, bald person to play them with.
Not the toys, either? Must be the nursery. Admit it. Even people like me who co-sleep with their babies until they're ready to leave home like an excuse to decorate. Pinks, blues, purples, pale yellows and greens... Teddy bear wallpaper, expensive wooden rocking horse in the corner, a baby monitor you'll never use because your baby has the lungs of a heavy metal frontman, ridiculously small catcher's mit on the change table you'll also never use because it'll be full of laundry you don't have time to put away... And when they get older you get to go to Ikea and redecorate all over again. Teehee.
Still shaking your head because none of those scenarios apply? Tell me something, young one... Were you one of those people who was horribly teased at school? Did mommy cry for daddy while daddy was out on the town with his mistress, Guiness? Not much attention paid to you, was there? Poor thing. Some therapy could help, you know. Or maybe you could join a social club of some kind and meet new people. Or, hey... I know! You could have a baby! Yes. A baby will love you. It'll even love unconditionally.
And after that baby's born, and you've taken pictures of him in the cutesy outfits, played with all his new Christmas toys, showed off his nursery to all your friends on the interweb mommy's board, and smiled to yourself when you're the person he cries for when he falls down, you can start thinking about how he's going to lead the UN one day.
Intrepid's arrival wasn't a planned one. We were too poor to buy cute clothes, big toys or any new nursery furniture. We were too young and ignorant to think about whether or not our child would leave a positive mark on the world.
Good thing he has. He means so much to so many people. Especially his mama, who couldn't be more proud to have such a wonderful eldest son. I had no clue what I was getting into at nineteen when I got pregnant. I just knew that our baby would bring us so much joy and love.
Selfish? Hell yes. But he does love me unconditionally, you know. They all do. I have three little men in my life that will find me beautiful even when I'm a nasty, old woman swatting at pigeons with my walker.
Happy birthday, my big guy.