As promised, I have concrete evidence behind my satirical claim to make people want kids. Part one: a friend who realized that one day they may find themselves dreaming up things to do with their free evening and end up at Sams Club followed by a diaper blow out at Chick-fil-A.
Part two involves the endless stories I can't help but vent to my big bro. I don't call him seeking out listening ears for my parental woes. Often the conversation starts as it does with any other adults; small talk, pleasantries,etc. But about 30 seconds into said pleasantries, I am forced to interject something like, "Do not crawl on the table" or "Wait until you're in the bathroom to pull your pants down" or "OH MY GOSH. STOP ASKING. I ALREADY ANSWERED YOU."
The last one is really poking the mom-bear within. For real. How many times can one be asked the same question before flipping out? Question harassment should absolutely be considered a form of mental torture. To really amplify it, the person being tortured should always be trying to do something else (preferably important: like work; or dangerous: like wielding a knife.)
So back to the story. My brother and I often enter into these conversations reasonably enough, but as one does with close family, the filters fall off and I find myself divulging just how crazy these things make me - drawing him into the euphoria of parenthood.
The question of the minute was, "Mama, do you want to play chalk with me?" The answer was a consistent, roundabout "pass." And don't try to tell me that makes me a bad mom - talking to my brother and not playing chalk with my daughter. I had black jeans on. Tell me you always agree to sitting in a colored puff whilst drying your hands out.
The chalk question morphed into a conversation between her and the moon the way only a three-year-old conversation can.
"Look, Mama! The moons out! (child giggle) What's the moon doing out in the day time? Hi, Moon! It's nice to see you, Moon. How 'bout your day? I'm just playin' chalk."
I explained to my brother the conversation going on.
"Well, there you go!" He said. "Just tell her to talk to the moon when she's bugging you with questions."
I know. He's a genius, right? Just got his PhD. He's not usually so quick with the advice, I usually leave him feeling at least slightly stressed out on my behalf. (Like the time he came to visit but our family of four was living with my in-laws and I was working from "home" full-time and I had mastitis and my son stopped sleeping and... you get it.) But this time - I left him empowered.
When he has a three year old who won't stop bugging him, he can look at his sweet little angel and tell him/her... "Sorry, Sweetie, Daddy is busy. Tell it to the moon."
