Remember that thing where somebody wrote something original about parenthood? What? You've never seen that thing? Well, pro-tip, don't look for it here, either. There's a reason why All Parents You Know have that annoying habit, even inter-generationally, of shaking their heads at each other and giving each other that "Awww man, KIDS, AMIRIGHT?" look that makes you, me (even parent me!) and anyone with feelings want to carve out their hearts with a spoon. OK, three reasons.
Reason one: Because it will hurt more!
Reason two: We all feel like kids forever, and for some reason this know-it-all parenting togetherness feels like a dig. We all become teenagers again: "Mooooooooom, gaaaaaawd." Don't ask me why. I only know it's true.
Reason three: Because human beings are basically the same, particularly when they are little. They are all adorable, sticky, sociopaths with no impulse control who are basically built to have shining moments of cavity inducing sweetness so you don't sell them.
This is all true.
Over the Christmas break, my mother-in-law, an otherwise sensible woman who makes very good childcare decisions, gave Nico a chocolate dipped biscotti after dinner. She defended herself by saying that she didn't realize he would like it, it being sort of hard and not very sweet. Oh Ann Marie. OHHHHH.
I grew up in a house where I wasn't allowed ANY sugar. Like, nothing. My cereal was health food versions of kid's cereals, things like "Fruit Circles" or something that looked like nothing so much as Trix that had been left out in bright sunlight for a week and tasted like those wooden boxes they sell clementines in. (Yes, I just ended a sentence with a preposition. Arrest me. I should warn you I get super strength when I talk about my years of sugar deprivation. Now come and get it.)
As a coping tactic I would sneak into my family's restaurant's kitchen before or after hours and eat sprinkles BY THE HANDFUL from a cardboard box hidden under the counter at the ice cream station until I felt lightheaded. My sister recently admitted she would sneak into the pantry in our old kitchen and house syrup like an alcoholic sugar vampire.
Moral? Kids don't care how they get their sugar, even if it's in the form of Italian pastry that tastes like stale cake or up-market Stella Doro bread sticks. (Oh, that reminds me: Dad, I ate those Stella Doro bread sticks you had stashed away in the bread drawer through most of the late 80's. Not mice. I just ate them LIKE A MOUSE WOULD. Because I am a genius and you kept no ice cream in the house. So really, this is on you.)
Nico proceeded to eat the chocolate bit off the bottom of the cookie like he was a cartoon character eating corn-on-the-cob, finished off the rest and went on to lose his damn MIND. High points included him lifting up his shirt and sticking out his belly shouting "You do NOT want to go into the forest!!!!" and filling a cup of water from his bath, handing it to me and asking "Mama - do you want some eyes for your eyes?" with a disconcertingly beatific grin on his little face.
There have been few moments in my parenting experience when I have been more in love with and bemused by this little person I've been gifted with, and even though he was clearly off his head, I found his particular brand of zany out-of-control behavior almost painfully endearing. I felt like I was part of his pack, like he was letting me into some of the secrets in his shiny new brain. I felt like those army scientists who gave all those soldiers acid in the 60's, but, you know, with biscotti and with more parental love. My son - crazy and creative as me.
So much love.
And then yesterday he tried to push me off the L train.
Awww man, KIDS.
8 hours ago