Monday, March 28, 2011

The Opposite of Parental Joy

Being a parent?  Love it.  I really do. 

Something absolutely miraculous happens the moment you set eyes on that baby.  And it happens deeper every single time.  You look at this creature and realize that you'd literally jump in front of a bus for this little thing, and yet you don't even know if he or she likes chocolate.  Nothing matters.  This baby can do no wrong, and even if they do, you won't care.  It feels as if you can literally see the fingerprints of God all over this child. 

So here's the actual crux of the matter. 

Where do the fingerprints of God go when this amazing creature has explosive diarrhea all over his bed, and then comes to your bed and pukes all over your bed?  And then, this "blessing" has the audacity to look at you, look at the bed he's just massacred, and state in a particularly disgusted tone "Mommy, I don't think I want to sleep in your bed anymore."

That's right.  He really did say that. 

Just in case you are wondering how Chris and I handle that statement at 4:15am, both of us kind of laughed with a delirious quality to it, and said "well, that's completely understandable." 
Then he went to his bed and passed out (which had all new sheets on it already). 

So, a message to teenage Justin, from his mother:

Justin, if you are reading this, you vomited all over your father this weekend while he was sleeping.  And your father and I had to sleep in a smell which would be an easy win in the "worst smell ever" competition without any blankets because you had already pooped all over the other blankets in the house. 
And you gave me stretch marks when I was pregnant with you. 
And you jumped from high stuff to low stuff all the time, and I swear I gained a wrinkle and gray hair with each "trick" you did.  So now I look old.
So.  If I asked you to do the dishes, mow the lawn, pick up your sister, bring in the groceries, or take care of me when I'm old...by God, child, you better do it.  YOU BETTER DO IT.
And yes, that is a threat.  The phone number for DHS is (503) 378-6704. 
Love you.
Mommy

1 comment:

  1. I admire how you both take care of his emotional needs with care, even after he throws up in your bed. You know what is important.

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