Yeah, so, when I’m out in public, I like to eavesdrop on people’s conversations because I’m a nosy fuck.
Sometimes it’s a couple having a passive aggressive argument. Sometimes its a couple of ladies talking shit about another one of their girlfriends over mimosas: “She thinks she knows me. That bitch doesn’t really know me. Don’t tell her I said that.” And, of course, the conversation I overhear a lot is the one in which a parent brags about their child. It’s usually two moms in a restaurant or at Target, each trying to one up the other with a story about how advanced little Jayden/Aiden/Sophia/Bella is.
- “He’s only 9 months old, but he’s crawling at a 12-month-old level.”
- “My daughter just finished reading all the ‘Game of Thrones’ books and she’s only in first grade.”
- “My toddler did our tax return this year.”
- “My 7-year-old son saw ‘Fast & Furious 6’ and understood everything that was going on even though he hadn’t seen the first five ‘Fast & Furious’ movies. He is so smart!”
Judging by the amount of boasting I hear, you’d think the world is filled with genius children. I try not to laugh out loud. They are proud parents. I get it.
Meanwhile, this is what my life is like …
I kid. I’m super proud of the Spawn. He’s a sweet, funny little guy with a smile that just kicks me right in my assy, sarcastic heart. (#humblebrag) My Boy hardly ever runs around with a bucket on his head. I, however, do it all the time. Seriously, I’ll pretty much do anything for a laugh, including prop comedy.
He doesn’t run around with a bucket on his head, but The Boy is a little bit of a daredevil. He likes to climb everything. He loves to stand on chairs. He loves to sit on the counter. If he can climb up and almost fall off, he’s into it. He takes all the cushions off the couch and jumps on them. If we take him a park, he will throw himself down a slide, while I stand nearby and try not to have a panic attack. Look, I don’t want to be a crazy helicopter parent. I just want to wrap my son in bubble wrap, is that so wrong?
I was not a daredevil kid. My mom said they used to call me “Cautious Sonia.” I was very careful. I think I am still like that. I’ll just say no to roller coasters and other things that people think are fun but I’m petrified of, such as watching “Real Housewives” shows or doing recreational drugs.
My sister Michelle was always more of a daredevil when we were kids, especially when I was standing right next to her saying, “You could totally jump that on your bike. Do it!”
By the way, Michelle’s daughter Lucy is almost 5 years old, and she can do the entire dance routine from Michael Jackson’s “Smooth Criminal.” Genius!