I see you with your brand new baby books. Your colored pens at the ready to jot down those dates of all those firsts. Thank the iGod and God-gle (a play on Google… get it? Ha ha…. ha…) phones out there or you’d never be able to post that boring shit** on FaceBook. Their first tooth. First step. First word. First burp. First fart… wait, what? Nevermind. Did I say it was boring shit? Sorry. Sorry. I know it isn’t boring to you. Yes, /me nods, it is quite important. Yes. Yes. Calm down. Unwad. So I get carried away with being annoyed at the mundane and tend to reassure myself that my mouth is a size eight. Like the song goes, blame my ADD.
I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t do all that adorable [gag me with a spoon] new mom shit, I mean stuff. I even started MAKING scrapbooking man child’s* baby book. [The one which idiotically found it’s way to the Goodwill thanks to my second ex-husband and then back into my hands by the grace of my luck, or ancestral guardians, or the really amazing employee; the one that took the time to find me on Facebook to tell me they had it. Yes Virginia, there really are amazing people in this world]
I swear I’m going somewhere with this. Just bear with me.
It’s Friday night and another 48 hour stretch of my kid being a “teen”. Meaning, him pulling an all nighter on computer games, then all day sleeping. It’s 10:30 and I’m finishing up the season 3 finale of Rita when something happens. Something that I still can not understand. I mean shit, it’s so mind blowing I’m writing a fucking blog about it.
After 4,687 days outside of my womb, man child has, without a single word from me or to me, removed himself willingly from the computer… and went to bed… of his own accord. THIS IS THE SHIT THAT BELONGS IN THE BABY BOOKS PEOPLE!!! “The first time he took himself off the computer to go to bed early on a weekend.”
All you parents of pre-teens (you know the “I’m-already-a-teenager-even-though-my-13th-birthday-isn’t-for-a-couple-more-months-gah-omg-wtf-stfu” little people) know exactly what I’m talking about. The mini-you’s who aren’t yet old enough to prevent skid marks on their underwear or remember to shower, want to believe they’re almost adults. Awwww it’s so cute! And that’s exactly why these little wins remind you that you are a kick ass parent. Because when it comes down to it, they have paid attention and can be responsible and mature at times. Those times are few and far between, but they do exist. And I’ll take any win I can get.
*man child (noun) The not-so-professional term I choose to refer to my son instead of his name because giving out any private information would be dumb.
**This does not include anyone I love who has had a baby recently, or ever.