I Am Parent, Hear Me Erp

Many parents write about how children have changed our lives. The little beings that turn everything we once knew inside out in the best way possible. In the process, a new strength within us is revealed. One that was there all along, but that we never had to call upon before since we had thus far lived without ever having to use the word projectile as an adjective. 

I could write about the lovely things of parenthood, too. It's all true. My children have indeed brought a level of experience to my life that I never envisioned.

But not even when hell freezes over, would I imagine the life I have as a parent.

I have performed unimaginable acts that necessitate me uttering lice comb, suppository, nasal passage, and use my sleeve. My once crisp clean existence couldn't handle what I do now. If, when I was a beautiful single young working woman in my 20s, I had been made to sit and watch a reel of something akin to Clockwork Orange, and then be told, “Does this bother you? Give you a funny feeling at the back of your throat? Oh, well, guess what? It's going to be your life!” and then found out that the scenes I had just seen were only the highlights of that which was to be, I'd breathe into a paper bag, and squeak, “WOW. I must really love those kids.”

We do. And we do anything, for the sake of our kids.

 

The acts I'm talking about here are not the basic amateur boot camp of parenting stuff. Like vomit clean up off your hair from vomit that's not your own. Or a missile-guided urine facial from your one-week-old. I don't even mean the diaper blow outs that crawl up the back of your baby's Sunday best sending you into a Target parking spot slash emergency diaper change detour when you're already late for church. No, I mean the things that make you roll your neck and crack your knuckles before saying, “YEAH, I did it. What of it.”

You did not come here to read horrifyingly gross things, so the details don't matter and besides, you all have imaginations. But just let me say this. These acts... the kind that can only be done by you as parent because anyone else would be grossed out, or an EMT because they're required by law to tend to those in need, still scream my name in the night. My children are in high school and junior high, but I still cry out in my sleep, pee, poop, carpet cleaner, hazmat suit. And boogers. (so many boogers) (that they put everywhere)

If you don't know what I'm talking about, be patient. Your day of glory will come. It's not until you're elbow deep in parenting that you'll feel the power of the undiscovered beast in you. How else could we know that ferocity of let me at it even existed in us, if we weren't cornered with no other choice than to perform what we have to perform, because duty calls and our babies need us.

We are the proud.
The badass.
The parents.

Hear us gag, retch, dry heave, and roar.

And we do it all, without latex gloves.

 

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