When I was growing up, one of the things that always irritated me about my mom was The Scream. If you accidentally poked her with your little finger, she would yell like you had put a hot poker to her. If you sat on her lap and moved in a way that made her uncomfortable, she would screech. I always thought it was ridiculous, and could not understand why she overdid it so much. As with so many things from my childhood, now that I am a parent I totally get it. Mom, I apologize. AGAIN.
See, my kids hurt me a lot. Poking, kicking, jumping into my lap but somehow leading with elbows and heels, etc. All accidental, but all frequent. And guess what? When they get me, I scream. LOUDLY. I was right about my moms’ screams — it isn’t about how much it actually hurts. The Scream is about being pissed off. It’s about being sick and tired of having someone kick you in the face when you are 34 years old and all you are doing is trying to buckle a seat belt. The Scream says, “What the fuck, man?! I’m not a brawler! I’m not in a cage match! Why am I getting injured every single day?!!”
I had no idea that there would be so much physical pain involved in parenting once you got past the birth. And I am not one who is used to that kind of thing. I have two sisters that I scrapped with from time to time when we were young, but as vicious as we may have gotten — and we got pretty vicious (anyone who has sisters knows what I mean) — we never hauled off and punched each other in the face. We never did pile drives off the couch. We pooped on each others’ floors and smeared toothpaste on each other’s faces. Because we’re LADIES, that’s why.
So when I am playing with my kids and all of a sudden I get smacked across the face, I’m like, “The hell, dude?!! Uh-uh, man. Play time is OVAH.”
I just........wanted to give them........a bath.........
Pile of Babies 