Or, My Worst Nightmare Come Alive
Apparently, there comes a time when you say: “I AM MOM” (ew). This concept is similar to saying “I AM WOMAN” except scarier because it involves snotty children. And lamer because there is no empowering song from the 70′s that will appear in a Sex & The City movie scene.
My trip to the Brooklyn Ikea spurred this chain of thought. As I waited in line at the pier for the Water Taxi to Ikea, I watched a man and his child. He was so, incredibly happy. He had a diaper bag in one hand and was pointing to his kid, who was dancing by the water. His wife sat on a bench, clapping and smiling.
What a strange existence.
I thought I might have been in this strange twilight zone. Everyone boarding the Ikea boat had a child, a carriage, some diaper bags, etc. It was overwhelming. Scary. Kids were screaming, crying, laughing and touching things (like the ground and such)! It was like going to the circus, but not a fun circus. One of those scary, movie, fun house circuses where clowns carry knives… and babies.
I am sure there must be something so lovely, so satisfying about getting married and raising a child. My parents confirm this suspicion of mine often, but I just can’t quite grasp the concept. My parents are incredibly proud of the sacrifices they made so I could have a college education, but all I can think of is all the other things they could have been doing. Like going out to fancy dinners, antiquing, and having dogs a la Valentino and his pugs:
Oy, clearly, this is a never ending and ever evolving conversation. Fate will probably have me ending up on some crazy show like 19 Kids and Counting (oh please no). However, until then I will happy read New York Magazine’s most recent article on motherhood and remain thankful for the lack of the additional title of “Mom”.