Get off My Lawn!

Being childless, I mistakenly assumed that I wouldn't turn into my parents.  After all, why would I?  But alas, it seems God has a sense of humor.  A sick, sick sense of humor.  

Back in September, I had the following exchange with a coworker:

Co-worker: I'm hungry

Me: do you want my applesauce?

Co-worker: Nah

Me: then you're not really hungry!

This was a classic Jamie-Mom exchange through most of my childhood.  You can substitute thirsty or bored as well.  Apparently bedroom cleaning was a valid boredom buster in her eyes... I still disagree with that one!

Last night, I channeled my father and was genuinely mortified.  A small child (6-8 years old, I'd guess) wandered up to my screen door last night and was looking into my house.  He made eye contact with me and a smile started to brighten his face.

Me: Go home.

Him: Why?

Me: Because you don't belong in my doorway.  GO AWAY!

("Why?"??? I'm going to throw a "this is what's wrong with kids today" in at this point, just to increase my crotchety points.  But it did annoy me.)

I know it seems harsh, but it was about 8:45 at night.  It was pitch black behind my house, and there are no children that age living in my building or the buildings on either side.  I don't understand why this boy and the other two he was with felt compelled to play behind my house.  At the time, I thought they were the little unsupervised monsters who live across the street from me - who once stood on top of a construction sand pile and threw rocks and dirt clods at each other.  I went upstairs for bed at 9, and could see a group of adults a few buildings down, also yelling and carrying on, so at least the kids weren't completely unsupervised.  They finally left my backyard a few minutes before I was going to yell out the window.

So anyway, I guess it's official: I am the "get off my lawn" guy of the neighborhood.  Oh well...I guess someone needs to do it!

How Can This Be True?

This kid started kindergarten today.

Yes, I cried when I saw the picture with the pigtails and the backpack and the smile...how can she be school-age already?

Before the Afterbirth

At last count, I have about a half-dozen friends and acquaintances on Facebook who are pregnant (or the male equivalent). In the past few months I've seen ultrasound pictures and videos, status updates from cribs to cravings, and everything inbetween.

And for the most part, I've been uncharacteristically quiet.  These little social media baby booms are always sort of tough on me emotionally.  Scott and I decided many moons ago to take the "if it happens, it happens" approach to parenthood, knowing that more than likely it wouldn't just happen.  And more and more the idea of having a kid alternately terrifies and annoys me (have you SEEN the cost of a family healthcare plan? clothes? furniture? daycare?). But every time it comes up I'm hit with pangs of jealousy, bitterness and a little bit of "what if?"  Don't get me wrong - I've done enough soul searching to know that I am already a complete person who doesn't need a baby to feel whole. (not that I'm saying any of you "need" a baby - I'm just rather clumsily saying don't worry about me)

But this post is only partly about me.  It's a cautionary heads-up to those of you who fall into the "expecting" category.  I love you all.  And I already love your babies. Even when I can't say it out loud, know that I'm overwhelmingly happy for you.  I can't wait to see the 8,000 pictures of every milestone of your precious angel's early years.  But I'm going to let you in on a secret that your other friends might not tell you:

The miracle of childbirth?  It's gross.  It's awe-inspiring to the people involved (even just as a spectator), but to the people outside that room, it's bloody and there's a lot of ick involved.  And most of your co-workers, your college drinking buddies, and maybe even your own family members just don't want to see what you might be tempted to share on Facebook.

So here's my sincere request:  if you are at all tempted to post pictures of the following:

• the placenta (or any mention that you're planning on doing anything with it besides letting the hospital dispose of it)
• anything on mommy that would usually be covered by a bikini
• naked baby pictures that include genitalia
• poop

please go ahead and un-friend me from Facebook now.  I'd rather have you just dislike me for my snark and bitterness than totally hate me for submitting of one of the above items to the STFU Parents Blog. (WARNING: the previous link goes straight to their "gross out" category. click at your own risk...though I personally find myself laughing through the gagging!)  It's just better for all of us this way.

Bowling

Saturday night was the end of Jamie's-Birthday-Week-o-Fun. I invited a whole bunch of people out bowling, and five of us actually went. Besides me and Scott, Matthew (who I swear has gotten taller since the last time I saw him) and Katie and Abrah (my Encore girls) made the trip out to Winter Garden for some bowling fun.

Yeah, we're dorks. But we wear it well!

Anyway, about the time we started our second game, a group of four teenage boys showed up and seemed to be debating how long they wanted to stay. I groaned a sigh of old age when I heard one say "yeah, but we can't drive after 11." Well the boys were soon joined by more boys, and then a bunch of girls. There were probably 20 of them over two lanes, yelling and shoving each other, using our balls (umm...isn't there some sort of etiquette about that?), and acting like annoying little shits.

And then I realized: we've become the old people who get annoyed by teenagers doing teenage things. It's official. I'm in my 30's. I'm thinking about making a tombstone for my youth: "Here lies Jamie's first 30 years. She's sorry for all the annoying things she did in public."

Pass the Geritol, please!