These truths — aka Murphy’s Laws of child-rearing — became evident once I had a kid:
A child will only nap when the $15/hour nanny is sitting on the couch twiddling her thumbs with nothing to do.
Children will sleep until noon on school days unless forcibly awakened; but will be up at the ass-crack of dawn on weekends and holidays.
The amount of time your child spends dawdling in the morning is directly proportionate to how desperate you are to get out of the house because you are really, really, really late.
A child will only have to go potty after the show has started and you’re sitting in the dead center of the row; and then he’ll have to go twice before intermission.
A child will always get sick in the middle of the night when your only option for medical attention is the emergency room, filled with stab-wound victims and MRSA infections. The child whose fever hits 103F at midnight will register a cool 99F immediately after you get to your pediatrician’s office.
A child will whisper his first word ever in the privacy of your own living room so that you have to strain to hear Juice! But the day he learns Fuck, he’ll shout it loudly … in temple … so the entire congregation understands him.
The child who clings to you like a deer tick and sobs inconsolably at the utter betrayal of your leaving him at daycare while you — selfishly! — go to work … to the gym … to run errands … that child will be all smiles with not a care in the world as soon as your car pulls out of the drive way.
Well, its been a while between posts. Hasn’t it? My blog is just taking shape. So much to do, so little time.
True, true. I was listening to some particularly beautiful Celtic some time ago and thinking about winter and people long gone … all these misty moments…getting quite worked up, really. James wanders into the room, sits on a chair and looks at me. The music plays, I smile tenderly, and he says “So Mom, what does Fuck really mean?”