Proud Moment in Parenting # 2,456

There are moments, days even, when being a parent is trying.  I suppose nobody ever said it was a piece of cake.  There have been many occasions on which I wonder how I should handle a particular situation.  I wonder why was this not covered in the often referenced What to Do Once You Actually Squeeze that Kid Out and She Acts like an Asshole.  Oh wait!  That piece of literature does not exist! How is it nobody has jumped on that bandwagon?  There is a market here, people. 

Anyway, there are trying days where I feel as though I may not make the best decisions, parentally speaking.  Sometimes I do things I am not proud of.  Admittedly, I have done some not cool shit.  Bird is bright.  Yes, I realize I am supposed to say this, as she is my offspring, but it’s really true.  Girlfriend has been working the system since before there was a system to be worked…Er, she’s got Bread on a string.  She knows that manipulative shit does not work with mom, though.  Don’t tell me I’m pretty and then ask for an ice cream cone!  Even poor, self-confidence lacking me won’t fall for that.  You did not eat your veggies.  There is no room for dessert.  Rules are rules. 

It pisses me off, looking at Facebook, seeing all these over-the-top moms posting all this happy crap said to them or done by their children. Never do they say, “I almost punched the little fucker this morning.”  Why the hell not (not punch him but perhaps admit you wanted to).  It isn’t all roses and sunshine.  People would commiserate with you.

Clearly, I love my child.  I think she’s great, most of the time.  Sometimes, just sometimes, I want to pull my hair out.  There are occasions where I’d like to poop with the door closed and not have someone screaming to me on the other side about where are Barbie’s pants.  I still don’t know.  Perhaps she should have left them on.  Stop hanging out with floozies!  I should mention that the happenings in Barbie’s house are a regular conversation around here.  Often, there will be several naked dolls sitting on the couch watching TV.  Once, there were seven naked and a whole bunch of dollar bills (I swear I am not making this up).  What kind of tomfoolery is happening up in there?  I wonder where Bird learns these things.  Huh. 

I earned a college degree (still paying for the fetching thing to boot) and there are days where I cannot figure out the inner workings of the mind of a four-year-old.  I cook.  I clean.  I assist (only assisting these days) with the wiping of a butt.  I play.  I read endless, redundant stories about CinderellaBelleJasmineAurora.  I watch (pretend really) Barbie movies.  Have you seen a Barbie movie?  Holy Shit.  These are so bad.  This, my friends, is how we could get terrorists to divulge their secrets.  Forget violence. 

Point being, sometimes I don’t feel like being mom.  That’s not an option.  A bad day at the office used to mean maybe I spent too long talking to a coworker or too much time online.  Now, a bad day means I wasn’t on my game.  It means I had a weak moment (or six), my child observed this and now I’ll never hear the end of it.  She knows I told her no more TV and then caved because she whined and I let her watch more.  She’ll remember that forever.  I’ll pay.  You have to be on your game at all times.  Impossible.

My most recent “bad day” happened a couple weeks ago (I’m lying I’ve had several since then).  My mom had the day off.  We took Bird to IKEA, Pier 1, Marshalls and, lastly, Costco.  These are all non-fun places for children.  IKEA is okay but it’s intense because there is too much shit for them to climb on and get into trouble with.  Plus, it gets old having to stop in every faux room to play.  Anyway, we had promised her ice cream and we decided to kill two birds in one stop, buying ice cream and letting her eat it in the Costco shopping cart. 

She wasn’t having it.  It has long since been her dream to dine at the Costco food court.  I shit you not.  She always tries to trick me when we go there, telling me she’s hungry because they have those super-cool tables with the red and white umbrellas.  Well, she was in luck that day!  I caved.  I felt bad when she insisted she could not eat her ice cream in the cart, once I realized her ulterior motif.  Yes, she wanted to dine at Costco.  My child has Ivy League aspirations at age four!  I shall post this on Facebook, cryptically of course, so as others will ask me of what I am speaking!

We got her ice cream and sat down.  Bird was ecstatic.  I cannot tell you the last time I saw her like this.  Thank you, child, you just saved us thousands of dollars by confirming there is no possible way for you to be more excited at Disney than you were at the damn food court.  She was bouncing in her seat looking like a freshman who got asked to prom.  I told her, “You’re really cute, you know that?  Where did you get that from?”  She got a huge grin on her face, batted her little eyelashes and me and smiled.  I thought, OMG, she loves me.  She is so happy!  She’s going to say she’s cute because of me!  She thinks I am her funny, pretty, smart mom!  False.  Do you know what she said?  She said, clear as day, with absolutely no hesitation, “From my Daddy!”  My response was, “Well, great, your dad has a uni-brow.  Maybe you’ll get that from him too.”