I tried to watch the debate last night—I really did. I made it through the “social issues” portion, although in hindsight I wish I had gone to bed during the preceding commercial break. It just made me angry, and I’ve spent enough time being angry lately, for reasons I won’t go into here.
I’m the first to admit, I have a hard time letting things go. I like to think it’s because I’m the descendant of a long line of stubborn “fighting Scots.” But most likely, I’m just kind of a bitch.
Anyway, I knew I wasn’t likely to make it all the way through the debate and through Jon Stewart’s last show. Why? Because I’m not only angry, I’m tired. I love my kid, don’t get me wrong, but he is always on the go, rarely takes a nap, and screams and bangs his head any time he doesn’t get what he wants. What does he want? It includes, but is not limited to:
- the phone/iPad/computer/any wire he can get his hands on;
- my set of Big Bang Theory bobbleheads;
- Jeremy’s giant Lego X-Wing;
- to pull all of the wipes/tissues out of the container;
- to run into the street;
- to lick the bottom of my shoes;
- to mount and ride the dog; and, most often,
- to be released and given free rein in any crowded and/or hazardous public place.
So 14-month-olds are hard, because they want to be independent but have no sense of self-preservation. We’ve all heard about the Terrible Twos. I have it on good authority from several people that “all 3-year-olds are assholes,” and a friend whose child recently turned 4 admitted that it’s not much better thus far. And then yesterday, someone told Jeremy that 5-year-olds are the hardest, because they are big enough to do some things for themselves, but still lack any ability to understand reason. Dear God, does it ever stop? Are 6-year-olds prone to building meth labs? Do 7-year-olds specialize in insider training and money laundering? Will 8-year-old Archie attempt to overthrow the government armed with a shiv fashioned from Sophie the Giraffe and a jumbo Crayon?
In short, I’m angry, I’m tired, and if I think past one day at a time, I kind of want to curl up in the fetal position with a tube of cookie dough. But instead, I will go pick up some bobbleheads off the floor and disinfect the bottoms of my shoes. Just in case.