I’ve grown fat in the nearly three years I’ve been a parent. Not so much from eating after my own child, which I said I would never do, but I do — but from eating my own words.
I remember when I was about seven months pregnant, Antique Daddy and I were playing cards with some friends. With my child tucked safely inside my womb, I was still free to waddle up to my soapbox and spout off all the idealistic things I would never do that those other horrible, less diligent parents allow their children to do.
Photo: Idealistic Pregnant Woman Looking For Soapbox
“I will NEV-UH! (finger wag) allow my child to eat at McDonalds!” I proclaimed with conviction. My friend Susie rolled her eyes and asked this question: What are you going to do when one of his little friends has a birthday party at McDonalds? Hmmm? What then? Are you going to let him go, oh ye Idealistic One? Idealistic One had NOT thought of that.
“Well, then certainly no television – that vast wasteland!” I preached as though I had coined that phrase. Susie just looked at me because she has three children, so she understood the ways of the world and she already knew that the world likes to stomp on the ideals of pregnant women.
“What about when you are trying to make dinner, or have to make a phone call?” she asked, “You don’t think you’ll let him watch television then?” I probably said something annoyingly self-righteous like, “Most certainly not! He can read a book or sit quietly until I’m through.”
I would have smacked me after that remark, but Susie is a kind woman and almost never smacks pregnant ladies. In fact, as I’m sitting here watching television with Sean, slamming down the remains of a half-eaten Happy Meal and washing it down with the the dregs of a warm juice box, I think I’ll just smack myself right now on behalf of idealistic pregnant ladies everywhere.