A year into the whole having a kid thing, I can say my life has been a never-ending chain of triumphs, gross-outs, laffs and yells. Raising an infant causes you to lose all sense of dignity and personal self-respect, matter of fact, that’s why I think some parents let the kids run wild in public, they’ve lost the will to care.
Year after year of cleaning up crusted crap off a little shiny hiney breaks many a person. You’ve got to remain tough in your resolve if you want to keep up the will to live like a semi-sane person.
I’d like to think I do a fairly excellent job of letting the baby meltdowns and gross-outs roll off my back. I don’t take her shenanigans personally, I understand Angry Baby is just a baby out to get hers. Surprise crap on my leg, arm or hand? No problem. Puking all over me and the surrounding vicinity 20 times a day? I’m the ruler of that shiz. You can’t bust me, kiddo.
And then yesterday Angry Baby did it. She finally pushed a primal button inside of me. What’s the button you ask? “The Awwww HAIL naw gurl, you did not just hit me!” button.
My MOM GENES kicked in during a most interesting situation, so interesting, I must chronicle it for posterity.
The time was mid-afternoon nappy noodle and the place her room. Angry Baby decided the whole napping thing was not gonna happen and as I went to lay her down knowing full well in 15 minutes she’d be out like a light, she pitched the mother of all fits. I had to steady my hold on her as I maneuvered her into the crib and just as I made the final descent for flight Angry Baby Nappy Noodle, she let out a guttural yell, followed by a fist right across my face.
I don’t know how I knew it was a deliberate rage-fueled lash out punch, I just did. In a split second she was flipped over and popped on the diaper. Oh stop it, it was made to shock her just as her sucker punch did for me. The immediate, instinctual pop on the bottom said: Yeah, this doesn’t hurt, but make no mistake kid, if you EVER physically lash out at me, I will remind you of my authority and dominance with a quickness.
I love my kid, and while I won’t ever physically harm her…Angry Baby’s pride? It’s gonna get a beat-down. Sorry Angry Baby, just because I sing, laff, play, wrestle, climb, tickle and goof it up with you doesn’t mean you are my superior. You see kid, your old mom and pop are the rulers around these parts, to borrow a phrase from my youth…”You are not the boss of me!” But me? I am. Oh Angry Baby, I am SO the boss of you.
I know this is the first of many acts of rebellion my child will throw me in the course of our time together, but I have to say the sheer instinctual MOM GENES reaction I had was awe-inspiring. She meant to hit me and I knew it, I flipped her over popped her bootie and continued with the inevitable nap ritual. I just did it. I showed my dominance and she got it loud and clear. Angry Baby let out a cry that she hasn’t ever uttered before or since. It was the howl of stung pride, embarrassment and the bitter realignment of power.
I’m sorry Angry Baby, you just don’t know who you’re dealing with. Don’t let the smiles, songs, rhymes, dances, goofy faces and diaper changings fool you, I’m a stone cold snitch who is older, wiser, bigger and for the time being, smarter. I rule, you drool.
I’ll do a lot of things and sling a lot of crap to make you happy kid, but I refuse to allow a baby to clean my clock.