Motherhood has definitely tampered with my faculties. It's hard for me to believe that just a few years ago I was a Socrates of sorts, guiding young minds to deeper levels of critical thinking and reasoning. Now I'm lucky if I remember to zip up my pants before leaving the house, let alone think or say anything reasonable.
Take today's lunch, for example. Why am I playing verbal tennis with Lil' Miss about the order in which she consumes her food? It's all equally disgusting and terrible for her, food I would never dream of putting in my own mouth (except for maybe a few or, let's be honest, all of those shoestring fries). But instead I choose to engage. "No, no. If you want any fries you have to eat your corn dog first." (Yeah, that sounds about right. Eat the greasy, artery-constricting corn dog equivalent to a week's worth of fat before indulging in the triple bypass french fries. Mmmhmm... good logic, Mom.)
Or how 'bout the absurd amount of time I spend negotiating. "Tell you what, honey. If you let Mom write this one email, you can wear your bathing suit over your clothes when we go to the grocery store. Do we have a deal?"
Or the unimagineable things I say that would sound so ridiculous to an outsider but make perfect sense given the situation. "Lil Miss, if you brush your teeth again, you'll have to go into time out." What they wouldn't know is that our little dental hygenist has already cost me fifteen dollars this month in toothpaste replacements because of that irresistable strawberry flavor.
Or the empty threats. I know it's wrong and horrible and will probably cost me an arm and a leg in therapy bills so she can deal with issues of abandonment, but I still call out this final warning every time we're running late, "Okay, I guess we'll be leaving without you!" A frantic Lil' Miss comes tearing out of the house with every conceivable toy tucked under her arms like a quarterback gunning it for the end zone yelling, "Wait! WAAAAAIT!!!"
Who or what's to blame? Was it the massive amounts of hormones pumping through my body during pregnancy? The wear-and-tear of conversing all day with little people who ask the same question ten times before really wanting to know the answer? Or maybe karma for all the sarcastic comments I made as a young teacher about obnoxious parents who seemed so "completely unreasonable" about their students? Whatever the case may be, I have plenty of time to ponder it. I don't think I'll be leaving Crazy Town any time soon.
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