Tuesday, February 17, 2015

I Am Parent, Hear Me Erp



Many parents write about how children have changed our lives. The little beings that turn everything we once knew inside out in the best way possible. In the process, a new strength within us is revealed. One that was there all along, but that we never had to call upon before since we had thus far lived without ever having to use the word projectile as an adjective. 

I could write about the lovely things of parenthood, too. It's all true. My children have indeed brought a level of experience to my life that I never envisioned.

But not even when hell freezes over, would I imagine the life I have as a parent.

I have performed unimaginable acts that necessitate me uttering lice comb, suppository, nasal passage, and use my sleeve. My once crisp clean existence couldn't handle what I do now. If, when I was a beautiful single young working woman in my 20s, I had been made to sit and watch a reel of something akin to Clockwork Orange, and then be told, “Does this bother you? Give you a funny feeling at the back of your throat? Oh, well, guess what? It's going to be your life!” and then found out that the scenes I had just seen were only the highlights of that which was to be, I'd breathe into a paper bag, and squeak, “WOW. I must really love those kids.”

We do. And we do anything, for the sake of our kids.
 
The acts I'm talking about here are not the basic amateur boot camp of parenting stuff. Like vomit clean up off your hair from vomit that's not your own. Or a missile-guided urine facial from your one-week-old. I don't even mean the diaper blow outs that crawl up the back of your baby's Sunday best sending you into a Target parking spot slash emergency diaper change detour when you're already late for church. No, I mean the things that make you roll your neck and crack your knuckles before saying, “YEAH, I did it. What of it.”

You did not come here to read horrifyingly gross things, so the details don't matter and besides, you all have imaginations. But just let me say this. These acts... the kind that can only be done by you as parent because anyone else would be grossed out, or an EMT because they're required by law to tend to those in need, still scream my name in the night. My children are in high school and junior high, but I still cry out in my sleep, pee, poop, carpet cleaner, hazmat suit. And boogers. (so many boogers) (that they put everywhere)

If you don't know what I'm talking about, be patient. Your day of glory will come. It's not until you're elbow deep in parenting that you'll feel the power of the undiscovered beast in you. How else could we know that ferocity of let me at it even existed in us, if we weren't cornered with no other choice than to perform what we have to perform, because duty calls and our babies need us.

We are the proud.
The badass.
The parents.

Hear us gag, retch, dry heave, and roar.

And we do it all, without latex gloves.
 
* * *

14 comments:

  1. hahaha
    this should be required reading in the Family Life class
    at high school...smiles.

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    1. I would do it with COMPLETE details, B. xo

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  2. And sometimes your kid are grown and they need you to wear those gloves, as well as a mask and to clean and re-bandage the driveline from their LVAD, which you doubted you could ever do... but you do it anyway, because you love them!

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    1. You brought tears to my eyes, Ms. A. I love you. Love to your boy, too. xo

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  3. ...and whimper? It's ok to sometimes, in the privacy of our own bedroom closets to whimper...like a boss!

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  4. I love this post. I learned a new phrase...urine facial...which is very accurate. LOL. You are a badass!

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  5. Yep, total dry heaving over here. The vomit I have cleaned off of myself, the girls and their bedding makes me shudder to this day.

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    1. And we do it. like it's nothing, Jen.

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  6. One of my son's life-long claims to fame (since I keep reinforcing its wonder and magic) will be the fact that last month he managed the Perfect Puke. He felt it coming, had a bowl on his lap, and landed every last drop into that thing. All I had to do was dump it into the toilet, flush, and pour a bunch of soap and hot water into the bowl. Ever since that day, I whisper to him, "Don't tell your sister, but you're my favorite."

    xxo on you

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    1. Such a beaming moment of PRIDE (with gratitude) xo

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  7. This was very funny! You should enter it in the Listen to Your Mother shows that are going on across the country (see http://thoughtstipsandtales.com/2015/02/18/listen-to-your-mother-show-to-celebrate-motherhood/). You'd have the audience cracking up!

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    Replies
    1. Thank you, Diane! I love that you are spreading the news of LTYM!!!!

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