I tend to view my children’s lives through the scope of a future therapist. I’ve never been to a therapist, personally, but you know, it might have helped a couple of times… But anyway, back to my kids. I try not to say things like, “Quit crying, you’re a BOY!” or “You can’t wear that, because it looks ugly…” or “No one will want to be your friend if you pick your nose and eat your boogers.” I have said all of those things, but I was kicking my mental self in the head at the same time.
Breaking the kids
So bringing a new baby home, I’ve tried to be vigilant about what I did not want to say. Basically anything that would get my kid on a psychiatrist’s couch, crying gentle tears and repeating, “Get off the couch, you’re shaking the baby….” or “For heaven’s sake GO OUT OF THIS ROOM WHILE HE’S SLEEPING…”
I have failed. Oprah will hold Toby’s hand, liquid brown eyes and mutant eyelashes wide. They will put pictures of me up on the big screen, scowling. Chunky women with frosted hair will shake their heads and hold back tears. Brynn’s book, “You’re Not Getting Anything, This Gift Card Is For the Baby” will set records on the Bestseller lists.
I think we’ll make it. Either I will figure out how to make everybody feel important and loved. More importantly, I will figure out how to feed everyone simultaneously, and before they are falling apart. OR, we will have a reality show. Toss-up.