(originally written 10/20/2017)
P is for Poop, and…
A is for Asshole
Any parent on a high horse can get on down, and if you’re against getting off your high horse, you can stay on it and exit out of this blog before I begin. I’m about to get real in this bish, and I don’t need you pretending like you don’t know what I’m talking about.
So, here we go:
A is for asshole, because if you’re a parent, you know for damn sure that you’re an asshole (for what feels like) all the damn time.
This morning, Cheeky, Jr. decided his day started at 5:00 (am, obviously). This meant that regardless of when I went to bed (cleaning, folding laundry, doing homework, working, etc. etc. etc… not, like, leisurely watching TV or playing games or drinking wine or doing any of the fun things a person without a child would do), my day also started at 5:00.
Okay, here I am, awake at 5:00, and to the point where I’m confident my kid cannot:
a) Burn the house down
b) Choke to death
c) Cause any other type of physical harm to anyone or anything in or around the confines of our living room.
So, I turn on Sesame Street, curl up on the floor, and fall back asleep (like any other sane human would do at this insane time of day).
Fuck me, right?
Do you know what falling asleep on your living room floor gets you when you have a 16-month old?
Well, well, well. You’ve come to the right place.
Books, feet, hands, and anything else your child wants you to know exist, somehow all become magnets to your face.
This is where the asshole comes into play.
I’m not proud to admit it, but because this is a blog, I’m clearly obligated to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me.
And on that note, here is a brief window into Cheeky Things Headquarters this morning:
Cheeky, Jr., just wanting attention from his one and only:
“NO HITTING. NO. DON’T DO THAT AGAIN.”
Five minutes later
*Unsteadily drops book directly on top of head, the corner undoubtedly catching my eyeball*
“Baby, I’m not reading that to you right now.”
*Takes book, hides it so CJ can’t just pick it up and try again.*
*Tries to fall back asleep*
*Literally steps on face*
Me (half asleep and pissed I keep getting woken up in the middle of my happy place):
“(loud murmur) Are you f*cking kidding me?
(To CJ): “What are you doing? Stop! Watch TV. Look, Elmo!
What about this [stupid toy]?”
Cheeky, Jr. (not two minutes later):
“ahhh, ah ah ah”
(those are grunt noises, btw, you either know em or ya don’t).
Me (so pissed):
*slaps CJ’s hand* “NO! You don’t hit!
(ironic because I hit him as a repercussion for hitting me? Whatever, moving on…)
WTF is wrong with you?”
(yes, I said WTF – no, it wasn’t the abbreviation. I said it. Am I ashamed? Yes. But let’s face it, guys, it was 5:00 in the morning, and he slapped my freakin’ face. I told you to get off your high horse).
…In case you’re wondering if I’m completely psychotic at this point, the answer is…
Yes! (But what parent isn’t, ya know? …And this is just one mild example!)
FOR THE RECORD:
I don’t ever, like, throw my kid against a wall, or do anything else DHS might be concerned about.
There are moments where parents (I feel safe to say it’s a collective category of people who can relate to this situation) are literally cringing and thinking:
if this baby doesn’t quit ___________ (doing such and such) I might kill him/her.
It’s a thought.
Just because you think it, doesn’t mean you’re going to do it…
Also, it doesn’t keep you from feeling like a serious ASSHOLE afterwards.
Because you’re supposed to LOVE your baby, unconditionally.
You DO love your baby, unconditionally.
And here s/he is, pissing you off, frustrating you to no end, making you say things like: “shhh, shhh, go to sleep, baby, it’s okay,”
…and then the next minute saying, “shut the f*ck up! Go to bed, what the f*ck is wrong with you? Why aren’t you asleep yet?”
And then, two minutes later, after your guilt trip sets in, you’re back to the “I’m sorry baby, go to bed, Mommy (or Daddy) loves you, what’s wrong, baby? Why won’t you go to sleep?”
It’s one of those things where you do it and then you’re immediately drowned by a wave of guilt. It’s usually because you’re exhausted. Honestly, writing this blog post, I can’t think of another reason why it happens. It’s a pretty legitimate reason, because 9/10 times, parents are just that – exhausted – A.F.
I don’t even want to think about when Cheeky, Jr. can talk back to me. Because if I feel like an asshole now, JESUS, my lack of a filter is going to make me feel like an asshole then.
- Cheeky, Jr. is my WORLD, and I wouldn’t feel like such an ASSHOLE if he wasn’t.
- Get off your high horse (if you’re on one).
- You’re doing a great job, mommas and daddies and grandparents and guardians of the world. Don’t let your guilt take over, we’ve ALL been there.
- YOU (parent) ARE NOT ALONE. As previously mentioned, we’re all assholes.
Asshole Momma, Out!