• I’d never again be able to see a movie or read a news story that involved a child suffering, missing or getting hurt.
• The sleeves on my hoodie sweatshirts – even my favorite ones – would suffice as Kleenex whenever one of my babies has a sniffle and there isn’t a source of tissue in sight.
• I’d be the mom of the two rowdiest children in the mall play area, and on the receiving end of dirty looks of other mothers while my little guys wrestled, jumped and chased each other around the toys.
• People would often greet me with the words, “Wow, you have your hands full,” whenever I walked into a business with kids in tow. I’ve begun to wonder if that’s code for “Hey, woman, your kids are out of control.” However, I choose to believe they really mean, “You’re doing a great job, mama. You deserve a spa vacation.”
• My heart would break, and my common sense would turn off, every single time one of my children got hurt.
• My dog, who once was considered a furry but incredibly intelligent family member, would change into a “pet” once our first human baby arrived.
• I’d grow closer to my mom and mother-in-law, and depend on them for advice and help with almost everything.
• My days would fill up with drop-offs and pick-ups for school, dance classes and sporting events. My weekends would fill up with their friends’ birthday parties, recitals and other kid activities.
• I’d have to “grow up,” and think about things like life insurance and a last will and testament.
• I wouldn’t be a perfect parent. I was an honors student in high school and college. I’ve had a very successful career. I’ve read parenting books and attended classes, but I’m in constant awe of how much more “together” other parents seem to be. Do I decorate elaborate cakes for my children’s birthday parties? Nope. Would my kids receive the recommended daily servings of vegetables if I wasn’t tricking them with fruit-infused V8 juice and pumpkin brownies? Not a chance. Are there times when my kids have fought all day, and I’ve survived the chaos by fantasizing that when their dad got home I could run away and take up a secret crime-fighting identity that did not include little ones? You bet.
• On the rare occasion that my husband and I break away from the kids for dinner at a restaurant, our conversation would be dominated with cute stories about our children, who suddenly seem so perfect we can’t wait to get home and tuck them into bed.
• I’d need to study up on all things related to dinosaurs, construction equipment and super heroes. With my daughter, everything was so natural – her questions were about people, animals, flowers – things that I understood. But the boys pepper me with questions about everything from “What’s that big machine?” on a construction site, to “Is Doc Oc tougher than the Green Goblin?” – questions their dad would easily know the answers to.
• I’d eventually know the theme song and main characters on almost every television show geared to kids.
There’s a videotape of “Clifford the Big Red Dog” that we’ve watched so many times, my husband and I have memorized the entire script. In fact, we regularly quote from the show in our everyday lives, much like some people do with sound bites from “Friends” and “Seinfeld.”
I used to catch my mom watching “Mister Rogers” years after my sister and I had outgrown it. I wonder if I’ll still watch “Dragon Tales” once all three of our kiddos are going to school.
• I’d have such conflicting feelings about watching my children grow up. On one hand, I cringe at the thought of buying my pre-teen daughter a bra, or letting her talk on the phone to a boy. But on the other hand, I’ve already begun paying for her college with a prepaid tuition program. And the other day, I gave her some extra kitchen gadgets to stow away for a “hope chest.”
I guess it’s like I don’t want her to grow up, but when she does, I want her to be prepared for it – even if I’m not.
