Oh, the things I will do.

    When leaving the kite park on Sunday I began to tense up in anticipation of my daughter’s impending tantrum.  Here we go.  We are leaving.  She is going to freak out in front of God and everybody while I wrestle her little butt into her car-seat.  But she did not care.  She walked hand in hand with her cousin.  She was harnessed and kissed goodbye without a smidge of disdain.  Whatever.  I will take it.  She only behaved that way because it was not me doing the heavy lifting.  It was her adoring cousin.  So I begin to load the trunk with the multitudinous overflow of crap one must laden themselves with wherever they go when they have a child.  

     I notice the tantrumous screams of a child that does not want to leave.  Only…it’s not my child.  The couple next to me was carrying their wriggling toddler (together) to their car.  Their faces full of shame and hurt and embarrassment and exhaustion.  This two and half foot terror needed two…not one…but two wranglers to get him in to the seat.   Once contained his mother walked around to the passenger side of the car to get in.  It was a walk I noticed.  The long slow stride soaking in the fifteen seconds of freedom that you have before getting into your six cylinder torture chamber.   A ride filled with demands and requests always starting with…Mumma.  Mumma I want some water.  Mumma roll down the window.  Mumma my back hurts.  Mumma!  This is how my ride goes anyway.  My child does not enjoy car rides.  Yet she is always anxious to go ‘Bye-Bye’ when I offer it at home.  

    I wanted to comfort the other mother in the car next to me.  I wanted to offer her a sip of rum punch from the bottle in the cooler.  Yes…alcohol is one of the many things one must carry with them when they have a child…on all day picnics anyway.   I have been in that moment.  The moment that she was in then.  I am in it more often than I care to admit.  And when I am there a simple gesture of ‘it’s okay…kids suck’ would probably throw me into tears…’Yes they do suck.  Why doesn’t anyone tell you they suck?’  It wouldn’t matter.  We would still have our children anyway.  We would scoff at the warnings…’My kid’s not going to suck.’  Maybe he won’t.  But chances are he will.  

    When I was younger, childless and unfettered I would have thought…Oh my God, what is that couple doing to that poor child?  Did they beat him?  Is he okay?  Now my thoughts tend toward…Oh my God that poor woman.  Look at that miserable kid driving that exhausted woman crazy…Here have a swig from my flask.  No…no…I insist.  It will make you feel better.  

   I fully intend to embarrass my child in her teens.  I will throw tantrums when she does not want to do things I ask of her.  I will tell cute boys at the mall she thinks they’re cute and if they ask for her number I will say…I will tell them she’s on her way to becoming a nun.  I will be going on her first date…unbeknownst to her.  If she goes to a movie I will be a few rows behind.  If any shenanigans ensue I will have the usher go in and get her then I will drag her butt home.  I will answer the door in my underwear when her friends come over.  I will escort her to the bus stop and try to kiss her goodbye when it arrives.  I could go on.  I have a detailed list but I will spare you.  Oh, the things I will do.