Not JUST being lazy...but

I am going to let my friend Amanda tell you how she has fucked up her children because I love her.  And because I want to share my forum with other people who agree that Motherhood is one guilt-inducing fuck up after another.  Enjoy:

I've messed up my kids. No, really. Hugely and badly. I think. But I do know that since you can't control your own genes, you should definitely be careful about what kinds of other genes you bequeath them. My 3 children have inherited the worst genes from both sides.

I dropped out of community college at 19 because I had this awesome boyfriend who was a really stand up guy and I wanted to spend all of my time with him. And because I lived on my own (with 2 roommates), nobody could tell me what to do - you know, because I was mature and strong and untouchable. Except somehow, before long at allactually, that laid back guy flip sided as a gross lazy cheat of a manchild. I split, moved back home, re-met a guy I'd known since middle school and married him. I moved from my conservative, Mormon family's home in California's central valley to Berkeley, where my brainiac husband had entered his PhD. program, which brings us up to date.

I'm a first born, strong willed, creative, (usually optimistic), introverted, lefter than liberal, bipolar, aquarian frustrated artist. My husband is an only child, brilliant, hardcore nerd, valedictorian, overachiever, master scholar doctor, published author, mechanical engineer, thinker. 

So then our two children that we had biologically together are smug, self aware, perfectionist assholes. They get every part of it right, and they do it perfectly. They are both extremely in tune with themselves (others, not so much) and independent thinkers = They are self centered narcissists and will not be told what to do. And then there's my firstborn, the daughter my husband legally adopted. She is very in tune with herself and is very personable and easy to get along with = A charming and beautiful teenage daughter who is one of the Popular Girls. I add that last bit because seriously that's a punishment for me.

Neither of these two types of kids are easy to parent. While I do realize that my younger two kids' personality traits are really pretty desirable and will serve them well in life as they get older, it's hard to give that a rat's ass when you have a flash of brief empathy for the mom you just heard about on the news. And while I actually really enjoy my eldest daughter's company (she's pretty hilarious and fun to hang out with), I worry endlessly and desperately about her lack of drive or initiative in her grades/future. At nearly 16 years old, she has literally zero idea of what she'd like to do "when she grows up", and it also has not dawned on her that her current 1.5 grade point average will not facilitate this training anyway. Her biological dad was kind of (to put it nicely) 'dim' intellectually. And not everyone really wants or needs to go to 12 years of college and grad school to become a mechanical engineer. So it's not like we're expecting her to be a doctor or anything (god that sounds pitiful). Honestly all I want is for her to be happy with her path. If she's driven to be a photographer or a nanny (holy crap I'd kill myself first) or a bus driver, that's cool. Whatever. But she doesn't seem to have a clue.

Nobody tells you this stuff. Having kids all over the spectrum (pun intended) age wise (5, 9, and 15), I assure you we're having An Event or five hundred on any given day. But I guess they really are some pretty awesome short people. When I realize that I really don't want them to change, I guess it's going okay. Pretty well actually.


But don't quote me.

If you want to see some of what Amanda really does (she is not a blogger but a beautiful crafter) go here:

http://www.etsy.com/shop/tackledandshackled

A Typical Scene....

There was at least 2 feet of fresh snow on the ground as I got out of the driver’s side door to grab Lila from the back seat. When I opened the back seat door, she looked sad and weak and miserable. Her nose had yellow crusted snot around it, and her eyes were set inside deep pools of purple. I unbuckled the stupid car seat, which she begged me not to put her in, and she whined that she wanted to stay sitting down. “C’mon sweetie. We’re gonna see if the doctor can help you feel better.”

I hate taking my kid to the doctor. As a former Hypochondriac, I was surprised to find that I tend to be exactly the opposite with my child, favoring “waiting it out” over calling the doctor’s office nearly every time. Last night, she woke up crying at least 4 times and was saying that her throat was scratchy and I just shrugged it off as another cold. Then this morning, Lila woke up and proceeded to throw up all over her Tinkerbell comforter and was screaming that her throat really hurt and so I called them and they suggested I bring her in right away.

Lila rested her sick little head on my shoulder. As I struggled to carry her limp body, my bag fell from my shoulder into the crook of my arm and swung around my knees further complicating my walk to the door in the ankle-deep snow. We got inside and I signed her in. I picked a seat in the empty waiting room. On the giant plasma TV, Finding Nemo was playing and Lila turned her head to see it. She sat there, face pressed against my chest, as I wrestled her heavy purple coat from around her arms.

About 3 minutes into our wait, the door opened and a chilly breeze slapped me in the face. Behind that breeze, a mother with a baby carrier and a little boy about Lila’s age came waddling in. The boy was excitedly talking about Nemo and ran over to the little activity table and started pushing the brightly colored beads over and through and around he tracks. At this, Lila’s head perked right up.

Lila told me she wanted to get down. “Lila, you’re pretty sick. Stay here with me so that we don’t get this little boy sick too, okay?” The other mother looked at me and made a face as if to say, “don’t worry about it…it’s a doctor’s office and I am sure the toys are filthy to begin with” (at least that’s how I read it).

So I let her off my lap knowing that she was SOOOOO incredibly sick and miserable that we had to rush to come here right away and that in a minute or two, she’d be whining to crawl back into my lap.

But that is NOT what happened. Just at that moment, the nurse called Lila’s name. And Lila enthusiastically jumped up and down and went sprinting toward the nurse asking her if she was going to get a sticker.

“You have GOT to be kidding me, Lila.” I said staring incredulously as the nurse looked over Lila’s file in her arm. “Yes,” I said. “I swear to God, until about a minute and a half ago I was pretty sure my kid was going to need emergency fluids and a bed at the children’s’ hospital, and only for about the last thirty seconds has she appeared to be fine.” The nurse rolled her eyes obviously thinking that I over-reacted when I told her on the phone that my kid was wailing and crying about her painful throat and had a hundred and four fever just an hour or so ago.

Then Lila was the perfect little patient, smiling and showing off on command. The doctor swabbed her throat and it turned out that she definitely had a Strep infection but other than that, she seemed to be fine. I was completely ashamed and horrified that I came off like one of THOSE mothers who hears a cough and demands priority treatment.

Lila got her sticker and as we walked to the car holding hands, I asked her if she felt better. She smiled up at me and said she did. Then as I was attempting to get her arms through the straps of her car seat, she started crying suddenly and puked all over the arm of my coat.

“AWESOME!” I thought.

..............
 
This was inspired by this:
 

Imagine you are meeting someone for the first time. You want to tell them about yourself.

Instead of reciting a laundry list of what you do or where you're from, please give us a scene from your life that best illustrates your true self.

- I am not sure that this is exactly what they were looking for, but it is what came to mind.
-Selena

Don't say you weren't warned.

Today I read a fantastic post from a fellow blogger about how they never tell you the truth about parenting and how it's partially a matter of forgetting and partially the fact that we're sort of sworn to secrecy about the truth.  And I walked around today thinking about this and realized that I WAS actually told on several occasions.  But not directly. 

(Here is a link to the post)

So for all you parents to be and new parents out there (and those of us who are still working out all the details), I am going to provide this little handy interpretation of what was told to me, and what I now realize they meant when they said it.

1.  Motherhood is the hardest job in the world.

The Truth:
It is the WORST job in the world.  I would be lying if I said that I know what it's like to be a worker at a third world sweatshop, but I suspect it is a lot like being a new mother.  First off, the hours will kill you.  You are basically ALWAYS on call, even when you are sleeping. And then for the first few years you are lucky if you get to sleep for more than 3 or 4 hours at a time.  There are NO BREAKS.  You do not get a lunch break where you can take off for an hour and run errands, you do not get to go to the bathroom (at least not by yourself) and you do not get to sit down without having someone scream at you.  There is no vacation or sick leave and the pay is pretty much nonexistent. 

2.  Colic is really awful but it does end.

The Truth:
It ends.  But while it is happening, COLIC IS THE WORST THING YOU WILL EVER EXPERIENCE.  It seems like it is going to go on forever and  you are trapped with this little helpless being who you can do absolutely NOTHING to make stop screaming at you.  And before the colic ends, you will realize that you are the worst parent that has ever walked the face of the earth because your only job at this point is to keep the little one alive and comfortable and you become convinced that you cannot manage to do this.  Colic will make you want to die.  Colic will make you realize that those posters all over the hospital and the reminders everywhere about how you are not supposed to shake your baby are serious business.  Because there will be at least one moment where you think, "now I understand why people shake babies".

3.  Having a baby will fundamentally change you.

The Truth:
Yes.  Completely.  But not in the ways you think.  You know that you will love this little one in a way that you never imagined (something else they tell you that is only half true) but you will no longer be able to watch movies that involve kidnapped children without becoming EXTREMELY uneasy.  You will want to avoid any books or episodes of CSI where awful things happen to children and suddenly all those jokes about punching babies and kiddie porn will not seem funny (yes, I used to have that kind of sense of humor).  Real actual news stories about children who are hurt or taken will terrify you and you will need to repeatedly check on them while they sleep at night. 

You will tell anyone who will listen about your child's poop.  There will be at least one hilarious poop story that every friend and relative hears at least once.  You will know all the words to every song Dora the Explorer (or your kid's hero of choice) has ever sung.  You will allow things that you always said you wouldn't (sure, let's have Fruit Loops for dinner).  You will beg your child to eat.  You will bribe them to behave in public even though you hate that kind of thing.   People who don't have children will tell you that it's all terrible and bad parenting and that they will NEVER be "that parent" but trust me, they will.

4. All kids throw fits.  All kids aggravate their parents.  It's how they learn limits.

The Truth:
There will be moments where you completely understand why wild animals eat their children.  You will have moments of sheer anger where you have to force yourself to walk away because if you stay in the same room with your child, you will end up hurting them.  This does not make you a bad parent (actually staying put and hurting them makes you a bad parent).  You will be amazed at the manipulative ability of a three year old, who has the ability to read your weaknesses better than any con artist ever could.  And you will fear that you are going insane because you will seriously consider the pros and cons of checking yourself into a mental institution "for the vacation".

You will have days where you really don't LIKE your child.  It does not make you a bad parent. On at least on occasion (and probably on many), you will think, if not actually say this:

5. They don't call it "the terrible two's" for nothing.

Truth:
My kid went through this phase from about 18 months until she turned 3. Then she was a normal kid who could behave for about 3 months, then came this bizarro 3 and 1/2 year old thing.  Most of the parents I talk to tell me that 3 is WAY worse than 2.  And it is.  The terrible twos are defined by the word "no".  They will tell you NO for everything, even if they mean YES, and then they will get mad at you when you think they meant NO because they said it.  The terrible two's want things to be just so.  They get frustrated and throw fits if the ketchup isn't on the right spot on their plate.  

But three and a half is KILLING ME.  Suddenly no matter is too small for a full blown, screaming, yelling tantrum.  Bath time = tantrum.  Bedtime = tantrum.  Getting dressed = tantrum.  Time for dinner = tantrum.  It isn't the big things that bring on the fits.  It's the regular routine things that you do at the same time EVERY SINGLE DAY.  Why bath time after dinner and bedtime after bath is always a huge ambush to my child, I will never know.  But every moment of every day seems like a terrible surprise to her. 

6. Listen to your gut.  You know your child best.

Truth:
Don't read every parenting book you can get your hands on because every one will tell you something different. Parenting "experts" seem to never have their own children at home.  Instead, you should call your mommy friends and/or relatives who have experience with kids.  When I listened to my gut, I thought Lila was just bright red because she was hot.  She had a cold or something and she should just sleep it off.  My mother told me that it didn't seem right and encouraged me to call the doctor and it turned out she had Scarlet Fever and a nasty strep infection.   


7. Your child will want to watch the same movie/listen to the same song/read the same story over and over and o
over.  It's perfectly normal.

Truth:
You will come to want to murder the creators of Dora the Explorer and you will fantasize that all the Disney Princesses (or whatever the boy equivalent is) are being maimed, tortured and executed.  If you are LUCKY, your kid will take to a movie, song, or character that you LOVED as a child and you will encourage this because you think it will be more tolerable.  But after the first 4,000 times, you will hate your childhood and everything you associated with that memory because your child will have worn it out beyond imagination.  Mine actually made me hate Joan Jett.

8. Motherhood is the most rewarding job in the world.

Truth:
This is totally true.  You will likely never be as proud of anything in your life as you are when someone tells you how smart/beautiful/well-behaved/creative/talented/incredible your kid is.  Seriously.  Your kid will do things that make  you want to pull your hair out.  They will make you scream into pillows until your throat hurts.  They will disappoint you and make you question your worth as a person.  But there are those moments where you look at them and your soul swells with happiness and you think, "I made that!"

Sometimes I hate her...but I just don't get this.

My friend forwarded me a video of a woman on the Today Show who is talking about making the decision to be a non-custodial parent to her children. On the one hand this sounds VERY appealing. In many custody arrangements, one parent only sees the children on the weekend or for part of the time, but that parent is almost always the father.

(go here to see the video)

I admit, I have had daydreams (bordering on orgasmic fantasies, actually) of having stretches of days alone when I could nap and eat what and when I wanted and have my house clean for more than 20 minute stretches. But as I read this, at first I found myself thinking, "these women are selfish assholes!" But I stopped myself realizing that I was feeling something else.  Something that seemed...very...NOT LIKE ME.  And then it struck me that I have NO DESIRE to really do this.

(check out this article that made me need to write this post)

I have a friend who did this several years ago. The boys father was simply more stable in his life, had a better job, a house, an extended family to help. She knew her son would be in good hands. She moved out of state and has a good relationship with her son, visiting for holidays and long weekends and he spends school breaks with her. I find it hard to talk to her about it because I am afraid that my questions will come off as judgments and in a way I simply DO NOT UNDERSTAND how you can come to this decision.

I wonder now if it isn't more my idea of what a mother is SUPPOSED to do that makes this all seem so insane to me. The only way I can imagine myself truly spending less than MOST of my time raising my child would be if I had some illness (like being a psychopathic killer?) that had me hospitalized or incapacitated.

And then I think, "Fuck this guilt shit.  FATHERS have always done this!"  As I mentioned before, depending on the living situations and distances, many custody agreements give fathers every OTHER weekend and holidays.  No one thinks they're selfish assholes for agreeing to this arrangement!  No one even questions it!  WHY IS IT OKAY TO ME FOR FATHERS TO BE SO MUCH LESS ATTACHED? Is it possible that my entire way of looking at the title of "MOTHER" is the reason that I think it sucks so much?


No. Sometimes it just sucks.

Washing her clean

So I am going to start linking up to this group and writing at least one piece per week. This week's assignment:

the red dress club:: Red Writing Hood: "Water gives life. It also takes it away. Write a short piece - fiction or non-fiction - inspired by one or both of these statements ..."

......................................

I never intended to baptize my child. As a little girl, I myself never really believed in the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit the way Sister Celestine expected me to in second grade. And yet I found myself there, in the church where my parents were married, where I was baptized, where I received my first communion, where I was dragged to countless holy day masses by the teachers who thought that I might end up in hell anyway.

I was there holding my beautiful baby girl, surrounded by people who believed in this whole thing so much more than I did, looking around at the breathtaking stained glass depictions of saints whose names I did not remember and the giant hanging crucifix with the bleeding guy hanging there making me feel guilty.

My mother insisted that we do this because if you are a Catholic you believe that babies who are not baptized cannot get into heaven, which always struck me as unjust and kind of absurd because that would imply that a rapist who says sorry and was baptized has a better shot at it than this little creature who had yet to utter one word that would imply an understanding of the ways people can hurt one another.

My brother was there. He and his wife made the trip from Florida because I had to choose someone to be the Godparents. The Godparents are supposed to be the people who would give the child the best Christian upbringing if she lost her parents and since they were married and happy and stable I thought they’d be the best choice, but I can’t imagine that they’d ever love her like I did.

The priest asked that we hold her on her back with her head over marble fountain of water and he read some passages and said something about washing all our sins away, which according to the Church is necessary if she wants to get to heaven since she was born of sin (her father and I are not married). Then he poured a couple of drops of water over her head, which startled her a little because it was cold but she didn’t really seem to mind. She was too engrossed in the whirling fans that gently moved the air at least 50 feet above her.

I wanted this to be a meaningful experience for me. I wanted to feel some kind of blessing or reverence for this whole ceremony. But I remember nothing but being resentful to an angry God who I didn’t really believe should punish her for the sins of the rest of us. She would have plenty of time to learn about the savage nature of people before having to choose which path she would walk down. I thought about some of what the priest said about how the water ensures her eternal life and cleanses her eternal soul. But what did any of this really mean anyway? Wouldn’t I just turn her cynical and faithless like my upbringing had turned me? What if she used religion as a crutch to perpetrate awful despicable deeds like so many other so-called “Christians” did throughout history and even today? What if she denounced God altogether and was content to live this life and have it be over when she died? Who would cleanse her soul then? Or would it even matter?