Is the day done? <looks around furtively>
OH, please, please, please tell me the day is finished. That it is now time to patch myself back together again before tomorrow comes.
Duuuuuuude, what a day.
Funnily enough, I had a conversation with one of my college theology and philosophy professors this weekend. He was a young parent, oh, 50 or 60 years ago, and often reminisces about those days with me. There must be something about the company I keep that sparks the memory.
I don’t think he enjoyed the early days of parenthood, judging from the general gist of our conversations over the years. (I think that, as many of his generation, he wasn’t around for much of the joy, so the challenges seemed overbearing).
This week he commented that infanticide really is understandable.
Bwa-HA, did he just say “infanticide”?
When the baby has kept you up for the 18th night in a row.
Or the eighth year.
And it can be so challenging (insert continued conversation about the trials of babies and toddlers) that…
And he really said this... To me…
…so challenging that Leilani the B*#&h comes out.
He nods sagely.
Something to add to my list of favorite professorial quotes.
I was taken aback at the gall he had to verbalize the absolute crazy that comes out when parenting small children. (Although, not thoughts of infanticide, blessedly.)
Parenting has brought out the very very best in me. And it has also brought out the worst in me. Ugliness that I didn’t even know I had the capacity for.
This is something we don’t talk about much, we mothers, we parents. Maybe we should.