Do you ever have a moment during any random day where you look at your kids and think “what the fuck did I eat while I was pregnant to make them like this?”
I have that moment just about every day. I realize that ALL little kids are their own special brand of weird, and most of the shit that we as adults find odd or concerning are all considered ‘normal’ (whatever that is) by childhood standards.
Knowing this sometimes does not squelch that little voice in the back of my head that says “maybe you shouldn’t have been so lazy about microwaving your lunchmeat”
During my pregnancy with Parker, I was completely and wholly obsessed with having a little girl. No different than Holden, but Holden was planned, so while I was peeved when he came out with a penis… it was my own damn fault. I wanted ONE girl, so when the second pregnancy came around I thought “this is it!”
Visions of pink polka dots and cute little dresses and assloads of shoes danced through my head. I dreamed, I wished, I hoped, but alas… another penis. I guess we cannot subliminally choose the genders of our children, but it would appears that we CAN subliminally effect what they will grow to like once they are outside of us… because I have a little diva on my hands.
Outside of the high pitched shrieks and overdramatic tantrums over a missing cheerio, my pregnancy thoughts rubbed off on him in other mysterious ways.
The kid LOVES to cook. Fake food, real food… but he watches his figure (ie, he is the pickiest eater on the face of the earth). He can sit for hours with play food pretending to make… I have no fucking idea what… and then ‘feeding’ it to me.
I can’t seem to keep his grubby little fingers OUT of my makeup, and more than a handful of times i’ve caught him running away with a makeup brush rubbing it all over his face.
He insists on ‘helping’ to do the laundry (which consists of him throwing clothes all over the place in an attempt to either get them INTO the washer, or while I am folding), pops out his fake vacuum while i’m vacuuming, and takes his miniature broom and ruins many a pile of dirt because I don’t think he fully grasps what the hell sweeping actually is.
Parker, in a nutshell, is a very domestic little boy.
His largest ‘girly’ quirk, above all else, is shoes. That boy LOVES him some fucking shoes, and thanks to a mass amount of hand me downs, he has about 10 pairs to choose from. For an hour out of every single day, at the very least, I hear him squealing at the top of his lungs “SHOES!” while trying them all on. My shoes, his shoes, Thomas’ shoes, doesn’t matter… he just wants to be wearing them and strutting around the house like he’s preparing for the highschool prom. Parker is a man of few words, so the fact that he not only says but repeats ‘shoes’ for the majority of his day says something. The kid loves shoes more than me… but I am a slight fail of a woman considering I only have about 3 pairs that I wear year round.
It’s not that i’m concerned about him. I don’t really care how he turns out as long as he is happy, and I know that ‘dress up’ is normal for a child of any gender… especially at his age where he honestly has no idea that there is a difference between boys and girls (hell, Holden at 4 years old still talks about my ‘pecker’). If anything, he will buy amazing gifts for the women in his life (because there’s nothing worse than a terrible man gift)… or not… considering his poor fashion choices as of late.
Today right before lunch he INSISTED on putting on a pair of electric blue Crocs given to us by a friend with white socks and no pants.
Perhaps he is a little more manly than I give him credit for after all.
my life. pic.twitter.com/qLhD6ISx7p
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