Things They Don't Tell You: Volume 2

I’ve mentioned before, that there are, indeed, many things people don’t tell you when you have a child. Something I never heard much about prior to childbirth was the nature of your child to gravitate to any and everything you find annoying. By annoying, I mean worse than nails on the chalkboard; let’s say I’m going to down an entire bottle of ibuprofen with a gallon of Vodka if you don’t cut that shit out. NOWSTOPITASSHOLE!

One of those types of things for me is Barney. I cannot stand that stupid, purple fucker. I can’t hear his voice. I can’t look at him. He is Satan in this household. I used to be one of those moms who swore their kid wouldn’t watch TV. Then, I realized I needed to do things like shower and make dinner so that went out the window. Once we began embracing the TV, I was very careful to select educational programming. Sesame Street is welcome with open arms as is pretty much any PBS program. Barney may actually be educational; I don’t know as I’ve never seen it. I CANNOT GET PAST THE PURPLE SUIT AND THAT VOICE! So, I just decided that Barney would not exist in our household. If we didn’t talk about him or turn him on, Bird just wouldn’t know. Right.

The first time Bird saw Barney, she had climbed the stairs to our bedroom and turned on the TV. I knew where she was, and what she was doing. But, I did not know what was on! After a mere two minutes, I went to check on her and low and behold she was absolutely glued to the damn TV. She was completely mesmerized by that rotten SOB. No! No! No! You would have thought she’d found the Playboy Channel or something. I was completely devastated.

For the next couple weeks, she asked for that show. I pretended like I didn’t know what she was talking about and eventually she stopped asking. I know, I’m a terrible person, but I had to draw the line somewhere. I figure now, before she goes to school, is the only time I’ll be able to control this. Once she goes to school, it’s over. It’ll be the newest Hannah Montana or Justin Bieber all the time. Then I’ll really want to cut myself.

So, Wednesday night, due to inclement weather (in summer for me, this equals anything over about 85 degrees with humidity-I do not like to perspire if I’m not trying to do so), we went to the library. I took Bird to her section and what did she find? You guessed it! A giant Barney storybook! That thing is brimming with all things purple and nauseating. I tried to distract her by showing her other books. It did not work. She was smitten. I even went so far as to tell her that if she got that one, since it was so big, she wouldn’t be able to get anything else. Her mind was made up.

Bread came along to find us when he was finished with his book selecting and immediately sensed my displeasure. He raised his eyebrows and I nodded toward the contraband. He took the same route I did by offering up a super-cool polar bear book. Alas, our stubborn child could not be deterred. Shit.

As we were checking out, I was still traumatized and shaking my head thinking about how life was ended as I’ve known it. Barney! No! No! No! I can’t! I will do all kinds of crazy shit. I swear. But this is terrible. I frowned, looked at Bread and, with a pout, I said, “I’m not reading that book to her.” He gave me is best sympathetic look and said, “Oh?” I said, “No way. I’m telling her it doesn’t have any words.”