This past weekend I went shopping and single-handedly jump-started the economy with one slow waltz down the baby girl clothing aisle. You’re welcome, America. You are so totally welcome. I’m sorry—I may be able to resist pink foofery some of the time…but not pink foofery with polka dots ANY of the time. I don’t know whether it is an awesome thing that I had a daughter—or the prelude to a personal fiscal crisis.
What can I say, baby girl clothes are my apple in the garden of Eden, folks.
I think it’s a good thing Bridget is a girl-although I would’ve probably been equally as happy if I had given birth to a drag queen… I can just picture that scene in the delivery room.
Me: Dr, what is it? Boy or girl?
Dr: Well your amniotic fluid has been replaced with glitter and sequins…and the baby has a full head of…synthetic hair. You just gave birth to a lovely…baby…drag queen!
Me (to Mike): Look! She has your Adam’s apple, honey! And my platform shoes!
All joking aside, I just think I’m more likely to be a better mother to a girl, considering the difficulties I’ve had adjusting to having a 12 year old boy around. It’s not that I don’t like Mike’s son, Ian. He’s a wonderful, smart kid-pretty delightful as far as kids go. It’s that just, ok, I’m going to be blunt here: what the f goes through 12 year old boys’ heads?
One of the things that really drives me nuts is that, for some reason, our couch is a cemetery for Ian’s socks (among other things.) I reached in there the other day only to find a mound of Ian’s dirty socks. My first response was, “Ok, just how many feet do you have, kid?” Then I tried to understand the justification of why he would just keep stockpiling his socks under the couch cushion, “Why are there 30 mismatched pairs of your balled up socks in here? Is this their final resting place, Ian? Did you say a few words before you laid them to rest? Did you notify their next of kin?” He just laughed….and proceeded to pull out a half-eaten ham sandwich and a jar of Grey Poupon from under the other cushion. You think I’m kidding-but I remember when I first moved in with Mike, I once sat down on the couch and it crunched…what the??? I pulled out a half full can of soda from under the cushion. The can was just there, left on its side-and yet none of it had spilled. It was quite remarkable, actually. Why Ian thought that was a good place to keep his soda till a later date and time, I’ll never know-but that’s a 12 year old boy for you.
He’s at the age where he likes to drown himself in Axe body spray which is basically an activated gag reflex in a spray can. I remember one time we were getting ready to have family over. Mike and I were upstairs getting ready when all of a sudden we heard shhkkkkkkkkk shkkkkkkkkkkkkk coming from the bathroom where Ian is getting ready. I whisper, “Mike, Ian’s doing Whip-Its!” (Hey, I’m hip to the new drugs.) And then we were suddenly assaulted by gusts of Ian’s Axe body spray. Mike yells, “Ian, what are you doing?” I yell,“Mike! I’m choking on the fragrance of teenage males hungering for female attention! Help!” At this point my tongue is completely numb from the overpowering Axe smog that has infiltrated our house. Ian says, “I just wanted it to smell nice in here for our guests.”Between dry heaves, I ask Ian, “Dear God, just how much do you think we stink?” Mike says, “I’m afraid to even light a candle to make it smell better in here. There’s so much aerosol and propellant, I’m afraid I’ll blow us up.” Guests were supposed to arrive at 5:30. Here it is 5:15 pm and I smell like a 15 year old boy getting ready for his first dance and overcompensating for his sweaty, “just played basketball” smell by bathing in Axe. At this point, I decide that if anyone asks what I”m wearing, I’m going to tell them it’s a new cologne called, ‘Desperate Hormones.”I figure it’s still better than smelling like what’s buried under our couch cushions.
And I’ve come to accept that I will never understand what a 12 year old thinks is funny. He says “That’s what she said” after everything,applicable or not. “That’s what she said”??? That’s what who said? Oh, you mean, the girlfriend you are going to asphyxiate with body spray someday??? Or the wife who is going to throttle you after she sits on the couch that has become Dirty Sock Mountain for the millionth time?
And you know, I felt the same way when my brother was 12. I didn’t understand his humor, his interests, his thoughts…It was a lot like living with a foreign exchange student from Uzbekistan…or watching one of those game shows on Telemundo where there’s clowns riding donkeys as competitors get sprayed with whipped cream and the host is screaming in laughter. “I mean, I like it-I’m just not sure I UNDERSTAND it.”
I just feel like I have more to share with a daughter, more to teach a daughter…Like, if you ever think you have a good idea but it starts with, “I bet I can save money by cutting my own bangs”–stop. Turn around. Something has gone terribly wrong. (Yeah, lived it and learned it, says the woman who suddenly has way too much forehead showing for anyone’s liking.) Or…cramps are just your ovaries way of hugging you from the inside out. Or, more seriously, never let a man define who you are. Unless he’s filthy rich. Then, by all means, feel free to define yourself that way.
Ok, so I don’t have it all figured out yet for a girl either….
But I haven’t had much time to sit and think about all that I want her to know-between all the feedings and diaper changes. I mean, forget 50 Shades of Grey. My days are mostly 50 Shades of Poop. (Seriously-you could make a complete paint line based on all the different shades of poop I’ve seen in her diapers since I’ve had her. “We call this one ‘Mustard-Seed’ and this one? It’s called, ‘How Now Brown Cow.’ Would you like it in eggshell or gloss?”)
I guess the main thing I’d want to teach her right now is that I’m her mom and, no matter what, I love her beyond beyond. And you know what? Maybe that’s all we really need to teach our daughters anyway…
Well…THAT and how to hover while peeing in skanky public bathrooms.
Wait for it….
And….
That’s what she said.
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