I have learned many things about kids in the past two years. The three most important are:
- I knew nothing about children before I had Gabe, and everything I thought I knew was a lie.
- Vomit’s not the only thing that can project across a room.
- While Curious George has taught Gabe some colors, numbers, etc… the damned little monkey has taught me to NEVER buy my kid a monkey. Ever.
I was Mom of the Year before I ever had a child. I could tell you what their problem was, how they needed to be handled, & how the poor bastards that were their parents were just lazy & impatient. I could’ve written book upon book of “child raising methods”.
I. knew. it. ALL.
Someone should have shaken me into reality. It’s okay, though… ’cause reality slapped me in the face when I gave birth. Gabe’s not a bad kid… but he’s all boy. And by that I mean he likes to Superman off his highchair and smash his Tonka truck into doors. He likes to head-butt (yep. that’s right.). He gives a high-five like it’s nobody’s business. So what do you get with a little guy like that?
Dare devil + little bull + fierce = Terrible, TERRIBLE two’s.
Yep, we’ve hit the motherload guys. For months now I have wanted to either gouge out my eyes, drink a
case coupl’a cases of beer, or both. I’ve tried spanking. Time out. Talking in “soft, soothing tones” (that’s a crock, FYI). I have tried everything but tying him to the roof of my car & driving around. And the only reason I’ve not tried that is ’cause he’d like it. Well.. that & it’s child abuse.. neglect.. somethingorother. He has his good days, don’t get me wrong. In fact, when Gabe is good, he is excellent. But when he’s bad… oh, boy. Prepare to die slowly inside. So to all those parents who I’ve criticised… I am SO sorry. And if you could remove the curse you’ve all placed on me I would certainly appreciate it.
I’m not really going to touch on number two, because who wants to read about projectiled anything. But I will say this: I have never gagged so much in my entire life until I– you guessed it– had Gabe. I’m taking an anatomy class, now… so while everyone else is excusing themselves from lab because they can’t handle fetal pigs & organs… I’m good. In fact, I’m probably the weird one poking at whateveritis with my pencil. Moving on.
Lastly, Curious freakin’ George. My younger brother loved the books when he was little, and I’ve read to my son since birth. So I figured, Gabe likes the little books… why not the movie?!?!
Epic mommy fail. Not only does Gabe ADORE the damned cartoon, but he has taken to mimicking the monkey. Yessir. He mimics George. Very well. Gabe’s a smart kid (I’ve not decided if this is to my benefit or my demise). He picks up on everything pretty easily. So when George makes a mess of the bathroom… or knocks over a cuckoo clock (we just so happen to have one.. go figure), Gabe’s right there with him trying to do the same thing. It’s gotten to the point, and I kid you not, that I have to secure him in his highchair if I know I’m going to be out of the room, and out of earshot, for longer than 5. Seconds. Gabe’s a quick little sucker, and I’m petrified at what all he can do. With that being said, I still like little George. If nothing else it’s decent entertainment for when life gets hectic for about an hour (and it often does). Hell, I’d rather him mimic Curious George than, say, Spongedumb Squarepants, any day.
Just know, Gabe will not be getting a monkey any time soon. Unless it’s stuffed… and then we’ll talk.