Adult Children of Parents
There are many, many benefits to having extremely involved parents who are thrilled that you are pregnant. Need help folding laundry? No problem. Want "a little hot chocolate"? Here are 84 fresh, piping ounces. Roast beef dinners show up at your doorstep, as do chocolate-covered almonds. However, the drawbacks are far funnier. These include:
-A pained expression on my dad's face, akin to that which he would make if I said to him, "I am going to renounce Catholicism and become an airport Hare Krishna," when I tell him that I will be working "past four pm."
-Parents--who have willingly gotten up at the crack of dawn and driven 25 miles in rush-hour traffic to take me to the doctor, as I am now forbidden to take the subway--showing up twenty minutes early as I am sitting on the toilet with a syringe half-stuck in my abdomen, bagel bits stuck between my unbrushed teeth, and a third of a cup of precious, precious tea waiting for me in the kitchen, and then cheerfully announcing that they will wait in the car until I am ready, and that "there is no hurry at all." When I get over feeling like I've just trampled seven puppies that belong to a sad orphan and finally get to the car, a ten-minute discussion ensues regarding whether I will be more comfortable in the front or back seat. While we duke it out, we all stand in the street next to the car and gently push each other towards the seats that we want each other to occupy, just for effect.
-Every discussion regarding any remotely real issue is concluded with some variation on the statement, "You shouldn't be worrying about this stuff now. Focus on those two little babies."
"But I was just wondering if you agree with the author of this article about pasta tha--"
"Arabella, don't worry about that. You need to relax now. Lean back and close your eyes."
-A pained expression on my dad's face, akin to that which he would make if I said to him, "I am going to renounce Catholicism and become an airport Hare Krishna," when I tell him that I will be working "past four pm."
-Parents--who have willingly gotten up at the crack of dawn and driven 25 miles in rush-hour traffic to take me to the doctor, as I am now forbidden to take the subway--showing up twenty minutes early as I am sitting on the toilet with a syringe half-stuck in my abdomen, bagel bits stuck between my unbrushed teeth, and a third of a cup of precious, precious tea waiting for me in the kitchen, and then cheerfully announcing that they will wait in the car until I am ready, and that "there is no hurry at all." When I get over feeling like I've just trampled seven puppies that belong to a sad orphan and finally get to the car, a ten-minute discussion ensues regarding whether I will be more comfortable in the front or back seat. While we duke it out, we all stand in the street next to the car and gently push each other towards the seats that we want each other to occupy, just for effect.
-Every discussion regarding any remotely real issue is concluded with some variation on the statement, "You shouldn't be worrying about this stuff now. Focus on those two little babies."
"But I was just wondering if you agree with the author of this article about pasta tha--"
"Arabella, don't worry about that. You need to relax now. Lean back and close your eyes."
Copyright 2005-2010 by Arabella and Trattoria Breve. All rights reserved. 10:31 AM
6 Comments:
Holy hell, Sweetie! You can NOT be worrying about pasta articles right now!!!! Step away from the pasta articles...
Dude, this part was poetic and perfect: "When I get over feeling like I've just trampled seven puppies that belong to a sad orphan and finally get to the car, a ten-minute discussion ensues regarding whether I will be more comfortable in the front or back seat. While we duke it out, we all stand in the street next to the car and gently push each other towards the seats that we want each other to occupy, just for effect."
Will you start a writing club with me with all your free time... oh, wait - you can NOT be thinking about that right now, Sweetie.
This is exactly how I'm going to be when Julia gets pregnant. ;)
LMAO. Do you feel like you belong in a mental hospital yet? When my friend was 8 mo. pregnant she "ran away" to my house. Her parents were looking for her for *gasp* 20 whole minutes before they called the cops. I wish I were joking. The next time I saw her she whispered to me, "Help. They won't let me make the bed anymore!"
You know what I think is funny? I've just been doing a little survey on my blogroll... you, like me, hide your little sitemeter icon at the bottom of your page. Do you do it so that people don't know you're watching them? That's why I hid mine. Otherwise a couple people that I KNOW are coming by 3, 4, 10 times a day would know I know. And they would be embarrassed. I hope. I wish I were from a more generic locale. Then I'd visit all the sites I love 50 times a day. Or hour. Whatever.
It's really quite lovely, isn't it?
In my case, the babying continued for a while after I had the kid, too. My mom stayed with us for the first few days after the kid was born, and she refused to let me do anything other than sleep and nurse. It was surprisingly delightful.
I know you are going crazy but I am laughing while you are on the ride! I loved your descriptions of your parents. Bless their hearts, they mean well.
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