The longer I am a mother I find myself becoming less judgmental against my will.
The first time I ever really paid attention to kids was when I was young and pregnant. I made a lot of keen observation and said brilliant things like,
“Runny noses on kids are disgusting – my kid will never be seen with one”
“If you give your kid junk, of course they’ll never want real food. No garbage food in my house.”
“Palm trees on little boys, or little girls, look retarded, not cute. My kid will never have one, proper pinning will do.”
“Leave your kid at home if he’s going to have a tantrum when you’re shopping. And if you have to bring him along, set up boundaries before so he’s not shrieking and scaring all the women to resume birth control. Besides, only spoiled kids have tantrums.”
Suffice it to say, I don’t judge mothers in the above predicaments anymore.
- I’d prefer a happy child with a runny nose than one wiped raw, and crying.
- I beg my child every morning to please drink chocolate milk – he needs the calcium and calories!
- As for palm trees, they’re still ugly as sin, but now my kid can see. And bobby pins, or sort of clip of elastic holder short of the tiny rubber ones, are untimely ripped from my kid’s hair – courtesy of my kid of course.
And the last – well I’ve only learned the opposing side of this one two days ago.
I brought my son to Wal-Mart to pick up a few odds and ends, and his Afikomin presents. He’s only 20 months, and he wanted everything. When we tried gently lead him away he started shrieking, in his high pitched voice.
“I WANNIE! I WANNIE!! I WANNIE!!!”
And he wailed, and cried, his voice went raw; I thought he was being tortured. This was my son. I never knew he was capable of this. Pathetically, I stood there, not making any eye contact, keeping my voice ultra-smooth. But seriously, he had lost it, thrashing his arms, gnashing his teeth, all the clichés.
I tried picking him up, when of course he picked his hands up and made his shoulders loose, so a proper grip was difficult. I tried again, wrapping my arms around his waist, his mantra then changed to,
I NO WANNIE, I NO WANNIE, I NO WANNIE!!!”
After about 5 minutes I was able to successfully distract him, but now I was mess.
My kid? A freakin tantrum? In Wal-Mart?
For those mothers out there, you know – It happens.
For those of you still saying “My kid will never” statements – enjoy your naiveté.