Nothing makes you feel more like a parent than wearing wrinkled sweats, listlessly flipping through your phone and sipping on drive-thru Starbucks while sitting in your parked but idling seven-seat SUV waiting for the Target to open. That's where I was this morning.
The other parents, sitting in their own idling cars, would occasionally look up and make unintentional eye contact with me. I raised my coffee and gave a knowing nod to the shared trauma of child rearing.
I'm confident there is an algorithm that can take into account the size of the Starbucks cup, the angle at which it is raised during a nod of solidarity, the depths of the bags under one's eyes and the amount of time between one's arrival and the opening of the Target doors and perfectly calculate how many children one has.
I have been a mom for over 5 1/2 years. I have certainly experienced the fatigue, the exasperation and the need to hide in the bathroom for over an hour that come with parenthood, but it is the times like this morning in the Target parking lot that make me feel oh-so-momesque.
Parents know the moments I'm talking about:
The moment when your attempt to get cozy with your partner gets momentarily paused because a kid who should be sleeping calls you in to his room to ask for a cup of milk and you return to the bedroom to find your spouse naked but also snoring.
The moment when you realize that your kids' clothes are washed multiple times a week but you have no idea when you most recently washed your jeans.
The moment when you turn down seeing your favorite band because you coached T-ball earlier that day and are way too exhausted to go out.
The moment when your bathroom solitude is interrupted by one kid wanting to read you a story and then by another kid crying that the first kid stole the book that's currently being read to you and then by your spouse wondering what the plan is for dinner.
My friend was wiped by her toddler during one of those attempted bathroom escapes. Wiped. She said it was a guerrilla attack with toilet paper. She was just seeking solitude, and she will never again be the same.
My high school friends and I have an ongoing group text. That's how I learned of the unwelcome wiping incident. It began soon after we left college. It was how we kept tabs on our heartbreaks, first jobs and first loves. They have documented our engagements and engagements called off. Texted ultrasound pictures have announced our incubating babies, sometimes two at a time. These days, the group text is the virtual Starbucks-raise solidarity nod as we share stories of tantrums and naked fun runs and that time my friend went to pick up her son from the grandparents' house, only to find him in the pool, in his clothes, clinging to the side and entirely alone. This parenting thing is the scariest job you'll ever have.
We sometimes like to imagine what changes could be made to make America a more parent-friendly place. I'm not talking about the givens, such as affordable child care, community help and a changing table in every women's and men's bathroom. No, we fantasize about the stuff that would really help. Like a hunky lifeguard genie named Zane monitoring every grandparent's poorly watched pool, magically popping up with your safe baby in one arm and an appletini in the other to calm your frazzled nerves. Or a remote control from inside the bathroom that enables you to triple-lock the door, has padding on the outside so your babies don't hurt themselves as they try to bash in and provides a camera so you can be sure they aren't doing something to kill themselves on the other side. Or "parent concerts" that start right after the kids go to bed, are at a venue with couches to sit on, include a Lyft to get to and from the venue, and go no later than 10 p.m. Or a Target that opens exactly after school starts instead of 40 minutes later.
When the doors opened, I bought a leather jacket. Sometimes you've got to dress up those wrinkled sweatpants.
Katiedid Langrock is author of the book "Stop Farting in the Pyramids," available at http://www.creators.com/books/stop-farting-in-the-pyramids. Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.facebook.com/katiedidhumor. To find out more about her and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate webpage at www.creators.com.
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