Don't Pass Me Over
Alice recently wrote about how sometimes she'll find herself applying mascara just to impress her three-year-old.
Tonight I am going to a Passover Seder at my friend C.S.'s mother's house. C.S.'s infant niece and three-year-old nephew will be there.
I haven't been this nervous since I had blind dates when I was single.
The niece I've never met. The nephew I haven't seen since he was less than a year old. I made a good first impression; he liked the stuffed Curious George, and even kicked his feet in happiness when he saw it. He has no idea who I am now, though. I never mailed the present I bought him for his first birthday. It is still sitting in my apartment, the handmade card yellowing with age. Stupid, lousy procrastination. He'll either like me or he won't, without benefit of the memory of recent toys. If all goes well tonight, the plan is for me to accompany him and C.S. to the American Museum of Natural History some time in the near future.
Have I told you that I really want to have children, and that I am going to allow people wielding sharp instruments to put me to sleep and mess around with my innards and scar up my stomach in the hopes that it will increase my chances of having children?
Do you know what I think about when I imagine myself with my hypothetical children?
I imagine taking them to the American Museum of Natural History. I imagine myself showing them the dinosaur bones and saying big words slowly and deliberately in the hopes that they will repeat them in a cute, babylike way, and become really smart and literary and scientific because their mother took them to the American Museum of Natural History, and they will love me and enjoy our quality time together.
This is big. This is like a parenting dry-run.
I have two different outfits strewn across my bed, having taken into account the day weather, the evening weather, the bus ride to get there, and, most importantly, the preferences of a three-year-old. He could discard me with a single wave of his hand! He could shatter my dreams and shrivel my ovaries. It's like something out of The Twilight Zone.
Then again, there's always the girl...
Tonight I am going to a Passover Seder at my friend C.S.'s mother's house. C.S.'s infant niece and three-year-old nephew will be there.
I haven't been this nervous since I had blind dates when I was single.
The niece I've never met. The nephew I haven't seen since he was less than a year old. I made a good first impression; he liked the stuffed Curious George, and even kicked his feet in happiness when he saw it. He has no idea who I am now, though. I never mailed the present I bought him for his first birthday. It is still sitting in my apartment, the handmade card yellowing with age. Stupid, lousy procrastination. He'll either like me or he won't, without benefit of the memory of recent toys. If all goes well tonight, the plan is for me to accompany him and C.S. to the American Museum of Natural History some time in the near future.
Have I told you that I really want to have children, and that I am going to allow people wielding sharp instruments to put me to sleep and mess around with my innards and scar up my stomach in the hopes that it will increase my chances of having children?
Do you know what I think about when I imagine myself with my hypothetical children?
I imagine taking them to the American Museum of Natural History. I imagine myself showing them the dinosaur bones and saying big words slowly and deliberately in the hopes that they will repeat them in a cute, babylike way, and become really smart and literary and scientific because their mother took them to the American Museum of Natural History, and they will love me and enjoy our quality time together.
This is big. This is like a parenting dry-run.
I have two different outfits strewn across my bed, having taken into account the day weather, the evening weather, the bus ride to get there, and, most importantly, the preferences of a three-year-old. He could discard me with a single wave of his hand! He could shatter my dreams and shrivel my ovaries. It's like something out of The Twilight Zone.
Then again, there's always the girl...
Copyright 2005-2010 by Arabella and Trattoria Breve. All rights reserved. 8:35 AM
6 Comments:
Perhaps you should wear an outfit with Curious George on it? Or better yet, a Curious George costume.
The strange thing for me about wanting to become a parent, is that I'm not all that interested in other people's kids. Never have been. Maybe that should scare me more than it does.
Good luck with the toddler set!
A Bob The Builder hardhat would seal the deal, I think. ;)
Enjoy yourself...
teebs' comment cracked me up. I'm picturing Ben Stiller showing up a girlfriend's house dressed like Curious George for her niece's birthday party and all the kids screaming and trying to bite him and stuff.
My picturesque child-rearing moment was going to be ice skating. I won't tell you what the first few times were like. Let's just say there was blood. For mom and daughter. And scalding hot chocolate. I wish I would've thought of the Natural History Museum. Much less potential for bodily harm there.
Good luck! (a pocket full of Smarties never hurts, either)
Yes! Take candy! You will be the hero!
We took our boys to the NY Natural History Museum and even they got a little tired of sooooo many dinosaur bones. It was awesome but there is so much to see and this is a little kid. Want to be a real hero? Take him across the street to the park and help him climb all the big rocks. THAT WAS MY KID'S FAV THING IN ALL OF NYC!
Perhpas dress in a Curious George outfit (I have a t-shirt I'd lend ya if you were closer), fill your pckets with Smarties and Pez and bring presents. The three pronged approach is bound to work.
But I guess you went last night? So remember the above for next time. And I hope it went well :)
I know nothing about children. On meeting kids of friends or relatives, it does occur to me that I should behave so that they might consider taking care of me when I'm older and feeble. Preferably because they have grown to like me, but I'd settle for them doing it beacuse they would feel guilty or ungrateful if they didn't.
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