May 6, 2009

Pants on Fire

I have never, ever fed my child fishsticks, chicken fingers or pizza. He only eats organic, microbiotic and healthy food. He has never had a cookie.

We do not allow television to be watched in our house when the children are awake. In fact, when the television is turned on, my husband and I are only watching Fox News.

We only talk to the children in plain language, and never resort to baby talk.

Our child does not stand on the furniture, and in the even he attempts to do so, he sits right back down the second we look at him.

We do not eat McDonalds ever.

My son has never taken a swat at me, said "no" when I meant yes, nor thrown any sort of temper tantrum.

Boys should never wander around without their shirts on. It's simply disgraceful.

My babies have never been in a baby swing. Children are not properly stimulated when placed in baby swings.

I believe that pumping is evil, that a baby should never, even be given a bottle, and that a child should totally be allowed to inconvenience a mother until he decides to wean himself, or otherwise make decisions of importance on his own volition.

I would never wear any sort of "mom jewelry."

I think minivans are quite useful and very modern, actually.

Changing a child's diaper in public is the lowest form of parenting, and should never even be considered.

Working mothers are selfish, career-driven and do not have the best interests of their children at heart.

I cannot believe that people talk on and on about their children, motherhood and birth stories. It's inconceivable.

Parenting books like "The Happiest Baby on the Block" and "Secrets of the Baby Whisperer" are unnecessary. Parenting is an exercise in completely giving onself over to one's children. You can only parent from the depths of your soul.

I am horrified when I see children throw temper tantrums and throw food, silverware and cups on a restaurant floor.

Babies should not be fed rice cereal, and should only be exclusively breastfed for the first twelve months of life. In the event someone carelessly chooses to bottlefeed, a bottle should never be propped up and fed to a baby.

Natural childbirth is not meant to be painful, you can "breathe your baby down," and epidurals really are unncessary.

Our house will never be rearranged for the sake of the children. I cannot imagine giving up a proper dining room for the sake of a playroom.

Just kidding ya'll.


Today, I rolled in from my reasonably successful job, soaking from the rain, wearing my silver "James" and "Stella" necklace and plopped down on the floor of what used to be a respectable dining room and which is now covered in a carpet of Legos and potty books. I watched my son throw a massive temper tantrum and internally I "planned" the meals for the next few days: fishsticks, chicken nuggets, and McDonald's on Saturday. I told James not to hit his sister (who I have propped up a bottle, and am feeding her four ounces of pumped milk), at which time, he said "no" and popped me on the head. I had enough, so I wrangled him and Stella into the living room, clicked on Sesame Street on the DVR, handed him a cookie, and watched as he climbed on top of the coffee table.

"Get down, James."

"No," he said.

Okay, whatever. I grab him and gingerly place him, seated, onto the couch. He stands up, looks at me, says "Sit down" and gives me an evil look. Fine. I decide it's not so bad - he's not wearing his shoes anyway. Stella begins to cry, so I pick her up (she's been in a swing) to jiggle her until the Happiest Baby on the Block "jello head" is in full effect, while prattling on in baby talk "my little Stella bella baby girlllll oh I love you soooo much."

After James had his fishsticks and threw pudding on the floor, I wiped off his chest (he ate without his shirt on), and put him down to play. We managed to get both kids bathed and in semi-clean jammies, and Stella had her bottle of straight formula and rice cereal. While I fed her, I thought about how much I love Stella, but how thankful I was for that epidural only four short months ago. Natural childbirth is painless. I could shoot my doula.

Both babies are sleeping, and after a ridiculously busy day, I sit down to blog and tell everyone about my children. I realize that I forgot to eat, in the bustle of getting James' bag ready for "school" tomorrow and researching the best way to potty train him by the age of two. Oh, and Stella had to get her sleep sack washed for the next day. Before completely settling down, I take a little "me time" and click on the Honda website to peruse pictures of the new Odyssey. I note that the website actually has as a tagline "Respect the Van."

Holy crap. I'm SO not there yet. But I may be eventually. Sooner than I think.

Until then, pass the Chicken McNuggets please.

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