One day during the time that I was waiting for my son to be born, a dear friend told me that once I had kids, I wasn't going to want to hang out with people that didn't have kids... for the most part, he was absolutely correct. Actually, the truth is, that I don't want to hang out with anyone anymore, whether they have kids or not.
I find myself using the baby as an excuse to not go out more and more. The majority of my friends that I do hang out with, have either had kids recently, or within the last few years, or are just old dear friends that I love to death.
But the reason that I don't hang out with anyone really anymore, with or without kids, is because both parties are equally exhausting, and annoying. I have found that my tolerance level for stripper or AA girl drama with my single friends has gone down to a pretty much 0... the last thing I want to hear about when a friend picks me up after a long day of chasing my son around the house, and picking up the same toys 98 times and throwing them back in the bin, is a long hard whine down Fairfax about how "Raven" isn't calling you back, or how the chick with 12 days made you wear a condom, but didn't make your friend use one when she fucked him right after you.
My friends with kids show me pictures, tell me stories, and complain about not sleeping like I give a fuck. MY kid is the cutest kid... period. I am only interested in what HE does, and how brilliant HE is... and I haven't slept in 17 months, so shut the fuck up... I get it. Just order a pizza and watch the episode of Modern Family I've already seen 20 times with me. Don't talk, just stare into the television and enjoy your night off.
Today was different though, I got to go to a birthday party for one of Sa's friends. Her twin babies turned one, and are super cute and really fun to watch. Another one of Sa's friends who has a son Calin's age with mutual friend of mine came as well, and he is the fucking cutest thing ever. I have been trying to make them friends since they were born, but today Calin kinda blew by trying to yank out his hair for an eye patch, (It was a pirate themed birthday party).
Animals... all of them. Snotty, bossy, control freaky animals. It's like being on tour with a bratty lead singer with entitlement issues, only problem with those is, they can actual form sentences.
I get to sleep in tomorrow. We take turns each morning waking up with him... only problem with that is, the walls are thin, and I find myself humming along to those Scientology based children songs through the paint chipped covered concrete with pillow over my head, and an imaginary gun in my mouth.
I love my life, I love my friends, whether they annoy the fuck out of me or not... but what's the point of living if you can't make people wonder if you are talking about them or not?
Saturday, May 17, 2014
The coffee goes down easy, but the levels of candy crush get harder. The smell of wet grass on the new day seep through the screen, and Calin has a hangar. It's been his favorite thing for the past 10 minutes. Hanging it on the ear of his little plastic rocking horse that he sits on no more than once a week for about 6 seconds, the rest of the time it's just in my way...
I give him some yogurt, and apple juice mixed with spring water, to really sugar up the hype while I wait for my coffee to somewhat kick in, and make the mornin a little easier. The trains on the television are talking to each other, trying to find one of the little trains that went missing... it's like an episode of the first 48 for toddlers. Thank god he's not even really paying attention to this sick crap.
He just found a paper bag... I should be picking up those pieces in about 3 or 4 minutes.
After the coffee kicks in, and I get my daily dose of attention from a baby picture I posted on Facebook, I start breakfast for the little man. I spend a good amount of time at Whole Foods, making sure everything is organic, no anti-biotics, blah blah blah... nothing that we ever had to worry about when I was his age. Parents had it much easier in those days... when I was Calin's age, Honey Nut Cheerios and a piece of wheat toast was considered healthy.
I usually just cut up some fruit and scramble an egg, occasionally mixing it up with some sort of chicken or turkey. It really doesn't matter what I put on the plate, he takes two or three bites, then spreads it out with his hands yelling "ALL DONE!" until it's all on the floor and the dog is having a field day. Today he did alright, he ate all his sausage, a half banana, some blueberries, and most of the egg!
The bigger he gets, the better he eats, and the more I have to be prepared for that energy to kick in. It's like Rocky chasing the chicken around here once he's had breakfast....
I give him some yogurt, and apple juice mixed with spring water, to really sugar up the hype while I wait for my coffee to somewhat kick in, and make the mornin a little easier. The trains on the television are talking to each other, trying to find one of the little trains that went missing... it's like an episode of the first 48 for toddlers. Thank god he's not even really paying attention to this sick crap.
He just found a paper bag... I should be picking up those pieces in about 3 or 4 minutes.
After the coffee kicks in, and I get my daily dose of attention from a baby picture I posted on Facebook, I start breakfast for the little man. I spend a good amount of time at Whole Foods, making sure everything is organic, no anti-biotics, blah blah blah... nothing that we ever had to worry about when I was his age. Parents had it much easier in those days... when I was Calin's age, Honey Nut Cheerios and a piece of wheat toast was considered healthy.
I usually just cut up some fruit and scramble an egg, occasionally mixing it up with some sort of chicken or turkey. It really doesn't matter what I put on the plate, he takes two or three bites, then spreads it out with his hands yelling "ALL DONE!" until it's all on the floor and the dog is having a field day. Today he did alright, he ate all his sausage, a half banana, some blueberries, and most of the egg!
The bigger he gets, the better he eats, and the more I have to be prepared for that energy to kick in. It's like Rocky chasing the chicken around here once he's had breakfast....
Friday, May 16, 2014
The beginning....
I haven't slept in seventeen months, all the furniture is in the back yard, and I step on slimy, wet, chewed up crackers and half eaten grapes constantly. I wake up before the sun, (I wouldn't call it waking up, I just kind of open my other eye) and before I can put the mason jar style coffee mug under the keurig, I'm being screamed at through a 2 foot wooden fence separating the living room from the kitchen, for a cracker or a ball, sometimes both at once.
These are the only two words he can really say, so it's all he wants... crackers.... and balls.....
He actually says tons of other shit, but those are his favorites.
After I get my coffee, I have to hold it over my head hoping I don't scorch my scalp while he circles me like a rabid chimpanzee, screaming "DOWN???!!!" while grabbing at my pajama pants because he thinks that's the word for "up". My Mother had the wonderful idea of getting him a toy grand piano, so after I refuse to pick him up, he runs over to it and smashes his hands down on the keys repeatedly like a Jerry Lee Lewis encore, yelling in babblish like the crowd was going insane for him.
I finally get the television turned on, and search for the light blue menu bars through the puffy, crusted, bloodshot slits that used to be my beautiful brown eyes. The light blue bars are my saving grace until the sun comes up.... they are the creepy, computer generated children's shows, that are created by the genius minds of "please shut the fuck up so I can gather my thoughts and not want to choke you for the remainder of the morning."
I somehow know the words to every song that is sung, no matter what channel it is... I remember before he was born saying, "my son's not going to be one of those zombies that sits in front of the television chanting Mickey Mouse songs like he's in some kiddy cult" ... I wonder how many other parents have said that shit, and reneged on raising their children with the better way of life... and how many people that don't have kids yet, that still say that shit. You just wait.
He already knows how to use my phone, calls my friends, and accidentally posts shit on Facebook. He once put my laptop in "sepia" mode... I had to take it to my computer genius buddy to get it taken care of, and he was all "how the fuck did he do this??"
Everything I own is covered in some crusty caked finger swipe, even my guitars. I keep the expensive shit in cases, and he is now even getting into those... 5,000 toys being kicked around the house constantly by me, and he scales the leg of the dining room table and grabs my full, hot, coffee mug, or I will occasionally find him sucking on a phone charger that's plugged into the wall.
At first, everything is really new, and frightening... trying to keep your child alive. Not dropping him when he was brand new was exhausting. It was the same anxiety as walking a tight rope between two skyscrapers.
But after a while, it just becomes some ninja shit that you somehow acquired over time... you sense what he's going to do before he does it, and your foot comes out sideways from behind, and stops whatever piece of metal was inches away from the electrical outlet without even turning your head.
You quickly realize that "quiet" is only good if he's sleeping... every other time you could hear a pin drop, is usually when I'm in the kitchen making his lunch, and he's got the dog hanging from the string on the blinds, or about to swan dive from the top of the couch head first onto the hardwood floor.
And with all that... with the 15 grey hairs I've lost just writing this, he will tire out, grab his favorite blanket, climb onto the couch, and nuzzle into my arms.... and it's like nothing bad ever happened in the world, ever...
These are the only two words he can really say, so it's all he wants... crackers.... and balls.....
He actually says tons of other shit, but those are his favorites.
After I get my coffee, I have to hold it over my head hoping I don't scorch my scalp while he circles me like a rabid chimpanzee, screaming "DOWN???!!!" while grabbing at my pajama pants because he thinks that's the word for "up". My Mother had the wonderful idea of getting him a toy grand piano, so after I refuse to pick him up, he runs over to it and smashes his hands down on the keys repeatedly like a Jerry Lee Lewis encore, yelling in babblish like the crowd was going insane for him.
I finally get the television turned on, and search for the light blue menu bars through the puffy, crusted, bloodshot slits that used to be my beautiful brown eyes. The light blue bars are my saving grace until the sun comes up.... they are the creepy, computer generated children's shows, that are created by the genius minds of "please shut the fuck up so I can gather my thoughts and not want to choke you for the remainder of the morning."
I somehow know the words to every song that is sung, no matter what channel it is... I remember before he was born saying, "my son's not going to be one of those zombies that sits in front of the television chanting Mickey Mouse songs like he's in some kiddy cult" ... I wonder how many other parents have said that shit, and reneged on raising their children with the better way of life... and how many people that don't have kids yet, that still say that shit. You just wait.
He already knows how to use my phone, calls my friends, and accidentally posts shit on Facebook. He once put my laptop in "sepia" mode... I had to take it to my computer genius buddy to get it taken care of, and he was all "how the fuck did he do this??"
Everything I own is covered in some crusty caked finger swipe, even my guitars. I keep the expensive shit in cases, and he is now even getting into those... 5,000 toys being kicked around the house constantly by me, and he scales the leg of the dining room table and grabs my full, hot, coffee mug, or I will occasionally find him sucking on a phone charger that's plugged into the wall.
At first, everything is really new, and frightening... trying to keep your child alive. Not dropping him when he was brand new was exhausting. It was the same anxiety as walking a tight rope between two skyscrapers.
But after a while, it just becomes some ninja shit that you somehow acquired over time... you sense what he's going to do before he does it, and your foot comes out sideways from behind, and stops whatever piece of metal was inches away from the electrical outlet without even turning your head.
You quickly realize that "quiet" is only good if he's sleeping... every other time you could hear a pin drop, is usually when I'm in the kitchen making his lunch, and he's got the dog hanging from the string on the blinds, or about to swan dive from the top of the couch head first onto the hardwood floor.
And with all that... with the 15 grey hairs I've lost just writing this, he will tire out, grab his favorite blanket, climb onto the couch, and nuzzle into my arms.... and it's like nothing bad ever happened in the world, ever...
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