The Anal-Retentive Scale of Worry

My husband told me casually one day that he got electrocuted several times as a kid.

Like how many times is several?

Well there was the time with the Christmas lights. Then once while setting up the wiring for the horse stable and a few other times I can’t remember.

Yeah, I bet!

My mommy mind was actually exploding. On a scale of 1 to 10 on the anal-retentive scale of worry, I consider myself to be an even 5 with 1 being I’m sure my toddler is around here somewhere and 10 being it’s mandatory that my child wear a helmet on the park swing. As a 5, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I won’t allow my daughter to dabble in activities that may result in her electrocution. This must simply be a boy thing and we need not worry because we will only be having girls. But here is the kicker! My husband has wonderful, protective parents as do I, and I too was electrocuted as a child. I remember going into the garage when I was around 10 and trying to plug in the light with my finger in the way of the socket.

The feeling of knowing that your child will inevitably feel pain, as a parent, is truly terrifying. Now that Charlotte’s standing and crawling everywhere, I’ve entertained the idea of swaddling her in bubble wrap and just rolling her around the house until she gets tired from giggling too much. Knowing her, she’d be amused for a day and then she’d be looking to go for a swim in the dog’s water bowl, again.

What I have come to accept is that worrying about the worry is no way to live. Sure I cringe when Charlotte finds a way to lick every ball in the ball pit where we do baby gymnastics and my heart skips a beat when she scales the couch only to fall backwards on her perfectly padded lil’ tushie. All of these experiences make our children stronger and ultimately us stronger as parents. So if you’re wondering where you fall on the scale, I suggest covering your outlets but put your hands up and step away from the bubble wrap. 

M'mmmmmmm germs! 

Halloweenies

It’s about that time! Regardless of where you are in your life, your news feed is probably chalk-full of painfully adorable babies dressed in various vegetable, princess, and animal attire. The law of the universe says that if you have baby fever this is probably the time of year your ovaries skip a beat. A baby dressed as a pumpkin, sitting in a pumpkin, seriously I’m dying of cuteness over here. Anne Geddes really had the right idea. As you continue to scroll down there are all your single or random old college friends dressed in the exact same costumes as the babies, just the slutty versions. I’m not sure how you can make Elsa from Frozen look like a stripper, but you pulled it off, literally.

Then there are the newly engaged or the newlyweds that are in couple’s costume. No guy, or rather, no straight guy has ever ran home and said, “Honey! I have the perfect couples costume for us to wear this year!” It is always the wife’s idea and he goes along with it because it is pretty much written into the "in sickness and in health" part of your vows. There is a picture of the two of them, the guy seven beers deep and the girl giving her very best pouty but I’m still sexy even though I no longer single look, right? She’s pawing at his chest, while simultaneously sticking out her booty, most likely biting her finger. Guys, do me a favor and tell your woman she is pretty. Right now, turn to your right, because I’m sure she’s the one making you read this, and say, “My goodness you are beautiful!”

Halloween has got to be a logistical nightmare for parents with kids old enough to dress up and go out on their own. I’m sorry, strangers are going to be giving my child an unlimited supply of candy, and I’m supposed to be cool with this because they go door to door as opposed to getting it from an unmarked, windowless, white van? Who came up with this idea? These are the things that make my head explode as a new parent. But I am going to put those fears in the box marked: driver’s license, first date, and belly button piercing and store it far away in the future. For now, I’m going to go dress my little duckling and see if I can convince my husband that the only thing more fun than a couple’s costume is a family costume.  

Quack quack, I'm adorable.

Adult Conversation

I was at the public library for a mommy and me story time when I overheard two moms, who clearly had neither seen nor spoken to another adult in a dangerously long time, having a conversation.

It went like this:

Mom 1: “I took Christopher to a music class and the teacher sang the saddest song to the kids! It was about 5 little ducks that went out and then one by one they disappeared, even though the mommy duck was calling for them.”

Mom 2: “I think I’ve heard that one. So the ducks are just missing?”

Mom 1: “Yes, it doesn’t say how long they are gone for, but they all just start disappearing, and I guess it has something to do with numbers and counting, but there really has to be a better, less disturbing way of doing that.” Her son was chewing on the corner of the diaper bag, while simultaneously putting his hand down his pants, clearly traumatized.

Much to my delight, they continued.

Mom 1: “In the end she calls for them one more time, because by this time they all are gone. I mean, I almost couldn’t take it anymore, what would you do?”

Mom 2: Hands on her face, without the slightest touch of sarcasm in her voice, “Do they come back? Please don’t tell me they get eaten or something.”

Mom 1: With a big sigh of relief she says, “Yes, all 5 make it back safely.”

Charlotte's version of story time

Alert the media the fictitious ducks from the children’s nursery rhyme are in fact safe and sound. When no one popped out and said they were recording this for some sort of reality show that documented moms that have gone off the deep end, I quickly picked up Charlotte and side stepped the cloth diaper versus regular diaper landmine and plopped ourselves down among the smiley moms discussing the World Series. We just spent 40 minutes reading, singing, and counting with our children; adult conversation is not a crime.

When your tiny human is only capable of saying 5 syllables the bar for discussion topics is set unreasonably low. But I can tell you that if I forget to laugh and become emotionally distraught over the lyrics to a children’s song that playfully teaches number sequencing, that means I’ve gone over to the dark side of the reading circle. I’ll need my fellow cynical yet milk bottle half full moms to come rescue me. The code phrase will be Duck Massacre.