I’m sad. My side has lost and the male-dominated culture has finally won out. A powerful man has robbed me of my identity. I have lost my will to assert my personhood and woe to the erosion of my self esteem.
Calm down; I love President Trump. You won’t see me wearing a stupid pink hat and complaining about him. I want him to rescue my country, not take me on a date.
No, I’m talking about the six-year-old mastermind that I call my son. The Lex Luthor of the first grade who has, while only alive a mere 14 percent of my life, managed to undo every bit of intelligence and self-confidence I worked so hard to accumulate lo these many years.
Before I was a mom, I looked at other moms who were, naturally, doing it all wrong. I would never let my kid yell at me in a store. I would never get on a plane with a crying baby. I would never spend so much money on Christmas. I would never use my kid as an excuse not to be in shape or have a good job.
Suffice to say, in the season of Kid vs. Mom… I think he’s looking at a 652-0 record. I am every mom I ever made fun of.
I have Apple devices that fly out of hip holsters whenever he starts to lose it in a public place. He has been flying with me since he was two weeks old and still hasn’t learned how to pop his ears, but I have to get him to Disneyworld as many times as possible before he’s too cool to be my kid beard on the rollercoasters.
I can’t walk through Walmart or any store without throwing things in the cart that will make him smile for, if I’m lucky, a minute. Don’t care, totally worth it.
Granted it’s not all my fault, or his. I blame bullies and pedophiles first of all. When I was six, I could cross the road by myself and stay out all day until the streetlights came on. My mom stayed at home, cooking and cleaning and taking care of business while we were out conquering the world and learning independence. I’m not sure which is worse; that my mom spent so much time cleaning and cooking or that I’m jealous she had an empty house on a regular basis to do it.
Now, I don’t let my kid go to the end of the driveway if I don’t have eyes on him. And a world that loves to mommy-shame wants me to make sure he gets fresh air and play time so when it’s time to go to the park, I go too. The dog hair stays on the carpet, the dishes stay in the sink and I miss the gym, so now I’ve missed my workout two… or three… hundred weeks in a row. In a crazy dangerous world, I have become his playmate, or at least his nicest stalker.
There are days when I simply don’t understand the child mind. I took his iPad away so he could get dressed for school. He “ground ground GROUNDED!” me. Two minutes later I brought him his underwear and socks and he said, “Wow this is the best day of my life.” Really?
The six-year old mind is a wonder to behold. As he learns new skills he is desperate to show off his mastery of them, so he insists on winning all the time. I let him win the races to the car or the tub, but only because his I have to nudge his competitive streak in a last attempt to get him there.
My diet consists of chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese, and often a peanut butter sandwich. Until he decides he wants to try exotic foods like pork chops and rice pilaf, or something crazy like gravy… I’m too tired to cook two meals every night. My freezer is full of waffles and apple juice, and I still have a stash of Halloween candy for emergency bribes.
He wants me to play with him, but I do everything wrong; no, not a tower, a house. No not a house, a tower. I worry about what he’s going to tell his therapist about me.
But then he goes to bed and gets an Eskimo kiss and a butterfly kiss and “biggest hug in the world” and I have lost my heart to him one more time because when it comes down to it, the little monster always manages to Make Life Great Again.