Correct me if I’m wrong, but I like to think some of the irrational, slightly twisted, and weird things that flash through my brain are relatively normal as far as moms go. Notice, I said SOME- I’m not going to go as far as to assume that everyone snort-laughs at the same dumb shit I do or goes off on tangents about sprickets going all power rangers ninja-style and taking over the world (and seriously, DO NOT GOOGLE SPRICKETS. I know you’re going to now, but I always have to put the warning out there so you can not charge me for your mental anguish or therapy)- but let’s all be very honest with each other here in that we all traded in our shiny fully-functional brains for pureed baby food the moment we had a child ripped from our insides.
My list of “normal” is pretty long- but one that I think will light up across the board is the sad heavy lump you feel in your stomach when you suddenly realize your baby is growing up.
DUH, this is ALWAYS happening- but most of us are pretty good at ignoring it until it smacks us in the face and then we get all weepy and stupid and sentimental and blubbery until we can reign that shit in and “forget” about it again. It’s a vicious circle of life (cue Lion King music here).
Believe it or not, I have found that these moments have been happening more frequently since Holden started school. That whole denial thing is a fuckload harder when you’re dropping your kid off for a full 8 hours and then they come home and tell you what a wonderful time they had without you- and you try to help them with whatever homework they have and they inform you that their teacher taught them to do it differently and they weren’t going to do it your way anymore.
Even the coldest of black hearts might squeeze a teensy little tear out over that. Even if you THOROUGHLY enjoyed the silence- it’s a bittersweet silence.
This week has been a not-so smooth week in the realm of “OMFG MY BABY ISN’T A BABY ANYMORE!”
Holden went on his first field trip, without ME tagging along, pretty far away for a 5 year old if you ask me. Then we had his first parent/teacher conference (mandatory for all students, not because my spawn is a demon) where we were told just how MATURE he is for his age, and then his first school pictures were sent home where he literally looks about 12 years old (and I would show you if there were not threats of bodily harm due to copyright we’ll hang you from your toes and then skin you bla de bla).
Knife to the heart, salt in the wound…. and some other really horrible “kick me while I’m down” type thing- all combined into one. NOT FAIR, WORLD!
It really started to appear, and to be confirmed, that my baby just didn’t need me anymore. Of course I have a younger child who is still trapped at home with me and cannot get onto the toilet without a wee bit of help- so that should have been satisfying, but never wanting to be one left out of whatever the fuck his older brother was doing- he started mimicking him in independence.
I NO WANT HELP!
Everything became I NO WANT HELP, or I WAY WAY TALL DO THAT.
For those who don’t speak Parker, he’s pretty much telling me in his own a-holey language not to help him and that he’s tall enough to do it himself. He isn’t, but he thinks he is- and once that lil’ turd says NO to something there really is no going back unless you wan to try and break the sound barrier with his glass-shattering shrieks of defiance.
Choose your battles. You don’t wanna choose that shit. I’ve already impregnated, ruptured, and had to have a tampon inserted into my ear- I try to avoid horribly loud high-pitched noises these days.
Poor Mommy, has two babies that are growing up and don’t need her at ALL anymore. I had pretty much come to terms with that fact (at least for the time being) until lunch time came to an end on Thursday.
We have a routine we go through every single day. We finish lunch, we go upstairs and brush our teeth, take a wazz, and then stubborn “I’m too old for this shit” Parker decides where he’s going to nap (Yeah, I know, I should be thankful he still does)- and then I put him there. He falls asleep, and I blog.
Every weekday this is our routine- usually with him screaming at me not to help him and me rolling my eyes following closely behind.
Thursday was different, though. Thursday we got to the bottom of the stairs after we finished lunch and he reached out to me; “Mommy, I want you pick me up”
Um….. HELL YES! I get to baby my baby while my other baby is busy not being a baby anymore? Count me IN! Bad back be damned!
I scooped up his pointy little ass and made my way up the stairs and then I felt it. Warm hot air blowing on my arm, followed by a sharp loud squeaking sound.
I look at Parker, who has this wild look on his eyes and grin on his face from ear to ear;
“Did you just fart on me?”
He squeals with glee “YEAH!”
I tried with all my might not to laugh at him, but he was just so thrilled with himself for letting one fly that I couldn’t help but chuckle. We get to the top of the stairs and continue on with our routine, and Parker decides that he wants to take his nap downstairs on the couch.
Ok, fine. I begin to make my way down the stairs when he calls to me: “Mommy, I want you”- with his arms reached out again beckoning to me to pick him up.
I considered it, I liked it when he let me baby him- but immediately thought better of the situation and testing the waters I responded:
“No, you just want to fart on me!”
He screeches with evil toddler laughter and goes screaming down the hallway “I WANT TO POO ON YOU!”
I might be a ding-dong once in a moment of needy weakness, but I won’t be a ding-dong twice. That’s a lot of donging and dinging and it just starts to sound wrong.
To sum it up: I’m no longer worried that both of my kids are growing up too fast. The Phantom Farter has a long way to go.
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