Being sick/hurt, and a parent, pretty much sucks sweaty donkey balls. Your kid just doesn’t get that you are out of commission, and don’t want to deal with their bullshit. Maybe they try for a moment to be compassionate, but their memories are like goldfish and they quickly resort back to the self-centered selves.
When I went to pick up The Munch yesterday my back was in so much pain I looked like Quasimodo. I am on day 5 of these evil spasms, and even walking upright is a challenge. It is like I am that monkey-man about 2 beings before Homo sapiens in the picture of evolution. The one hunched over, with the spear, and hair on its back.
Toni: Munch, Mamma’s back really hurts. So I am having a really hard time, and I need you to be cool.
Munch: Remember Mamma when I was sick and you took care of me?
Toni: Yes I do.
Munch: Well I am going to take care of you!
Toni: That would be really nice Munch.
Munch: Did you remember the iPad so I can watch it on the car ride?
Toni: You know what Munch, I forgot. I am sorry.
Munch: WHAHHHAHHHHWAHHHHAHHHAHHAAHAHAHAHA BUT I WANT TO WATCH A MOVIE IN THE CAR.
Toni: Dude, you are going to be fine, we can talk.
Munch: NOOOOOOO I DON’T WANT TO TALK!! WAHHHHAHAHHAHHAHHAAAAA!
Okay so you know how people always tell you to “take it easy” when you are hurt? Yeah… so do you think leaving my kid on the side of the road would have qualified?
The Munch complained the entire 20 minute ride home, while I tried to block out the sound of her whines by going to my “happy place” – a world where Munch is controlled by remote, and I can shut her the fuck off.
Munch: Can I watch a movie at the house then? I wanna watch the Care Bears okay Mamma?
Toni: Dude, you are seriously out of your mind if you think you are watching anything right now. You can’t complain the entire drive back, and then expect to get what you want. There is no way.
Toni: Thank you for saying please, and asking nicely, but no.
Okay… so I could have let her watch something so I could relax, but at the same time, she was being a total dick. As a parent I really didn’t want to reinforce that behavior. And if I let her watch shit, we would only fight about turning it off later. She just had to go through it, even if her violent wails and complaints weren’t exactly “relaxing.”
After The Munch finally let go of the watching Care Bears, she wanted to change her dress and find her ballet shoes. Okay… but here was the problem. I didn’t know where her stupid ballet shoes were.
Munch: BUT I NEED MY BALLET SHOES SO I CAN TWIRL!!!
Toni: Munch, when something is important to you, then you have to take care of it, and put it in a special place. You can’t expect me to know where your stuff is.
Munch: Well can you we look in the barn?
Munch: Can you carry me to the barn?
Toni: Dude, my back really is hurting. I can’t carry you. I need to eat something, and then you can put on your boots, and walk to the barn.
Munch: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Don’t eat anything! LETS GO LOOK FOR MY BALLET SHOES NOW!
Toni: Munch I am crazy hungry! Do I tell you that you can’t eat when you are hungry?
Munch: Well can you carry me into the barn?
Toni: Dude… I can’t. My back remember? You have to wear your boots and walk.
Munch: NOOOO MAMMA NOOOO! I REALLY DON’T WANT TO WEAR MY BOOTS! MY BOOTS DON’T MAKE ME FEEL PRETTY AND THEY MAKE MY FEET TOO HOT AND THAT MAKES ME SAD!!! YOU HAVE TO CARRY ME!
I kind of gave up on that battle, and carried her, and my food, across the icy tundra to the barn – where we still couldn’t find her son of a bitch ballet shoes. There was almost another meltdown about that, but then The Munch found a ball, and wanted to play catch with me. Yet the problem with playing catch with a 3 year old, is that their coordination sucks. So she didn’t just toss the ball towards me in a causal controlled way, she pelted it at my head with alarming speed. And I don’t know about you, but balls flying towards my face (even fleshy soft ones) tend to make me tense up and flinch.
At this point my back was twisted like a pretzel, and I pretty much felt like I had done some permanent damage.
Toni: Listen Munch, lets back in the house because I have to lie down.
Munch: But my ballet shoes?
Toni: Can you wear your gold shoes instead?
Munch: Okay! I can twirl in those too! Then you can pretend to be the little girl, and I will be the Mommy and take care of you!
And then for the rest of the night she kind of did. If you call jumping on the bed, telling stories, and feeding me peanuts taking care of someone.