Monday, July 8, 2013

Guest Post: Of Babies & Tony Soprano

I got married. That's weird to say. Before we even got married people started asking us about having kids. And here's the thing: I'm sure kids are great and all, but I'm 23. Now in Appalachia (which is pretty much equivalent to my hometown), that's pushing old maid status. But in the regular world where we don't feed our babies Mountain Dew and play songs on the jug, that's very young. I need some time to accomplish some things before I'm swabbing a baby's mouth with my finger because it just ate a blade of grass.

First things first, forget the miracle of life: I need to finish The Sopranos (James Gandolfini, I'm lookin' at you). I have TV ADD and can't seem to finish this series despite my intense love for it. Now I don't know much about parenting, but I can't be watching Meadow do every drug and Tony beat people to a pulp if there are delicate baby eyes and ears in my house...right?

Next up, I have to learn to not be afraid of scary movie commercials. How am I going to comfort a scared child when I am also crying in the fetal position? How will a child react if they tell me there's a ghost in their room and I tell them we have to immediately burn down the house and move to a new state?

I also need to learn to do a lot of practical things before anyone wishes me upon an innocent child. These things include (but are not limited to): filling out a deposit slip without googling it first, cooking meat (as pointed out to me by fellow guest dud Elizabeth), gaining a basic understanding of medical insurance, shaking my intense emotional attachments to TV shows, learning not to hit snooze 15 times every morning, ironing without adding new wrinkles, and remembering to shave both legs (as evidenced by my current single shaved leg).

And now, for the biggest stumbling block I will have to conquer: sharing food. Moms ALWAYS share food. They let someone else have the last piece of pizza, and if you order something you don't like at dinner they will trade you. This really goes against my motto in life: I DON'T SHARE FOOD. I will claw someone's face to get the last piece of pizza. If someone asks me to split something at a restaurant I want to slap them back into reality. No, I do NOT want to split your chicken salad sandwich. Who are you, Calista Flockhart? Get over yourself. This is a highly sensitive subject. Is sharing food something you have to learn to do before parenthood or does it show up with your baby, like stretchmarks and an inability to use email correctly? Either way, I'm not ready for that. Not ready for that at. all.

Your babies/adolescents/grown children are cool. I'm sure they're the best babies/adolescents/grown children around. But gurlfriends, you got to back up off me.

Ciao, bambinos.

P.S. For those of you who read my last post, here's a picture of me right before I laid on the floor of the Fort Worth public library with a wet paper towel and my neck and then ran to my brother's house to violently vomit.

No comments:

Post a Comment