Eating my words

A few years ago I sat in my friend's living room feeling dizzy, overwhelmed and with what felt like the beginning of a migraine. 

She had four small children. The television blasted some noisy, obnoxious cartoon character, and the story line was an affront to my intelligence. I made a mental note, "My kid is never going to watch this kind of shit."

The house was covered in toys and baby parafernalia. The children ran wild, screaming, and my friend... I don't think she had washed herself in days. She was barefoot, and I caught myself judging that, "I will never allow my feet to get crusty like this." I also thought, "If I ever have a baby, they will have a designated room or corner and that's where they will play, not the whole entire house, and they will not scream like this."

Then I had a very rational, genius insight, as I left to go get some migraine medication, "I'm never having children."

As I sit here on the floor, on a baby mat that is taking my entire living room, watching Barney while examining my crusty feet, I wonder if Barney's friend will confess that he broke the toy. 

I sip my coffee and tell baby, "I hope that little shit tells the truth to Barney." Baby doesn't hear what I say because at the moment he had to do one of his random screams that he does just for the hell of it.

Ever since he discovered the pitches his voice can make, he practices it at any place and any time. He doesn't seem to understand English, nor Portuguese when I say "no." If I look stern, he thinks I'm just funny looking and laughs. 

Because the only living creatures I had raised have been dogs, I catch myself wondering if I should roll up a newspaper and hit it the floor by him to make my point.

At the grocery store, I've always been a proud mom of a quiet and friendly boy that looked around and smiled at strangers. I thought with my buttons that the screaming kids were kids of bad parents and that because I am awesome, my kid just observed the world in baby wonder. 

Baby has one pet peeve now, though: when I don't let him eat my grocery list, he now does this "I'm gonna scream until the child protective services comes" shriek. It all started when he thought it was funny to try and steal it from my hand and I thought, fine, eat it. A few minutes later I have to turn the kid upside down, my fingers down his throat, on the cashiers line to pay for the groceries, to retrieve the munched up list before he completely choked.

The other day he was trying to steal it again when I jokingly grab his little hand and say, "I'm gonna get your little hand!" Of course that random shriek comes out and the girl standing next to me gives me that look. I've been that girl. I know what that look means. It means, "control your kid," or "what's wrong with your son?" or simply, "don't grab his hand if that's going to upset him!" I want to tell her he doesn't usually care when I grab his hand like this, but I don't see the point of explaining myself. 

I'm already eating my words, anyway. 

Oh, and in case you're wondering, the feet get crusty because I can't wear shoes around the baby. He thinks they are chew toys.