5 Things I Swore I'd Never Do
Before you become a parent, you are able to freely judge those with children. You can easily look down on them as lesser beings. You vow to yourself to show them exactly how a 'good' mother does things when you have kids of your own. And then you have a baby...
If you don't yet have children, please, enjoy your daydreams because once the bundle of joy is here, you'll forget any of your morals exist. I promise.
5: Give my kid a cellphone- I'm still a very firm believer that no child under the age of 17 should own a phone of any kind, but playing with one? That's a whole other ballgame. While I don't agree with smartphone apps directed at young children, nor their use, I am not against handing over my $400 cell to a screaming toddler because I know damn well it's the only thing that will shut him up! Hypocrite? Maybe, but at least my kid isn't pitching a fit in the produce aisle...
4: Serve anything not organic- Yeah, yeah. I know, the whole organic craze is a load of crap---but that doesn't mean I didn't want to pay the extra price to come out the better mother. That is to say, until I actually saw how much that shit costs! How in the fuck can a banana be $3!? It's madness! That, and boxed mac and cheese with hotdogs (okay, tofu dogs) is way easier and far more likely to be ingested.
3: Eat fastfood- Okay, so I am still on the fence about letting Piggle eat at McDonald's, and every Happy Meal he gets fills me with guilt for the next 24 hours (or until I commit the next mom-faux-pas). Really, though, how unhealthy can a grilled cheese be? (Don't answer that). Plus, if I want to lead any semblance of an adult lifestyle, i.e. shopping for hours on end, he's gonna need the fuel to keep up, and I certainly can't be arsed to pack a bunch of food he likely won't eat anyway---better to play it safe. No kid in history has refused a Happy Meal.
2: Let my child throw a public tantrum- We've all done it. Glared coolly at the mother who told their child 'no' and who is now ignoring their ear-splitting screams. Obviously, they're bad parents for raising such spoiled, rotten kids...HA! If that's the case, I'm going to hell for how awful of a mother I am. I can't even count how many fits the boy has thrown in Walmart, let alone any other public venue. I'd actually like to take this opportunity to apologize to every mother and father with screaming children that I've ever judged. Karma is a bitch, and I've had my ass handed to me.
1: Let the television babysit- Prior to having Piggle, I was adamant that no TV ever replace quality time with my children. That was before I realized how thoroughly impossible it is to get anything done with a toddler in tow. The housework started piling up, the strange odor--emanating from god-knows-where-- reached alarming strength, and I couldn't see my feet under all of the dirty laundry. The magic of the boob tube is the only reason that my house is in the semi-presentable state that it is...and probably the only reason Piggle is able to eat more than peanut butter sandwiches. Thank-you, Barney.