Once upon a time, I was a person who was not a parent. WEIRD. My memories of this time are pretty foggy – probably because I’ve burnt too many brain calories resisting the urge to hide in a cupboard for the last six years.
Due to the fact that I became a parent before I was even old enough to hold a driver’s lisence, I had two parenting priorities. 1 – Keep the child alive, and 2 – Make it appear to the rest of the world that I know what I’m doing. Thankfully, I’ve been successful at fulfilling at least half of the parenting priorities to date. If someone had kindly handed me the Parenting Rulebook so that I actually WOULD know what I’m doing, I would’ve graciously accepted. Alas, nobody did, and I had to write the damn book myself.
This seemed like a pretty easy feat in the beginning. I was handed the little tiny person that I’d grown…
…and I was responsible for feeding him, watering him and giving him sunshine. Something along those lines.
And then I blinked. And this happened.
Rule number one – don’t let them get wet, don’t feed them after midnight.
Not only did I have to feed and water and sunshine the tiny person, I had to answer questions like “Where do babies come from?” and “Is the tooth fairy even real?” and “Can we have poop for dinner?”
Remember when you were a child and your Mother was pretty much Google? You could ask her the distance to Mars in centimetres and you totally trusted she’d be equipped to answer it? I am now someone’s personal google machine, and I’m totally unequipped to answer those questions. I still have too many of my own to be answered.. Like why does it take a six year old fifteen minutes to put socks on? How do I keep a straight face and not fall on the floor in a fit of laughter when my child is trying to be Grown Up and Cool by “Ughhh”ing and Eye Roll-ing me in front of his friends for the first time? How is he still awake after twelve hours of straight PLAYING and BEING A MANIAC?
My all-time favourite Parenting Question is “Wait… Why is he being so quiet?”
Oh. That’s why.
I have no idea what I’m doing. If Parenting were a poker game, I’d be the guy bluffing big-time on a pair of two’s. I don’t know how long time-outs are supposed to be. I don’t know how to bake banana bread. I don’t even know what’s going to happen when I say “You have until I count to three!”, and then I actually do count to three and he’s still sticky-taping the dog to his skateboard.
Here are some things I do know. His laugh is sweeter than a symphony. He likes to describe his favourite foods as “terribly delicious”. He can’t wait to grow a beard. His comedic talent is out of this world ridiculous.
And he thinks I’m okay.
That’s a good enough reason to keep bluffing until I figure this thing out.