Thursday, April 22, 2010
Am I Ready?
Husband and I were making dinner the other night, when a commercial for Remember the Titans came on. I ran in the living room and stared at the TV, riveted by the movie trailer recap, and suddenly dying to see the movie again.I really am a sucker for advertising. Honestly, every time one of those huge Friendly's trucks passes us on the highway, I suddenly need an ice cream cone with giant M&M's rolling off of it.Anyway, I said to husband, "Remember the Titans really is such a classic movie. I just love it." He agreed and we briefly discussed the amazingness of this film.
Left side! STRONG SIDE!
I mean really, did you not just get chills?
But then I had a horrifying thought. Because this is how my mind works. I had the frightening realization...that our baby would think this movie was old. OLD. I am not OLD! Remember the Titans is not OLD! DENZEL WASHINGTON IS NOT OLD! This is what I will tell my baby in a frenzy when he or she is about 10. And then they will roll their eyes at me. Because to them, I will be old.
I voiced this to my husband and he gave me that look that makes me thankful that he puts up with my crazy thought processes about life. But then, he did agree. They will think this glorious movie is old. Like I thought about "Field of Dreams" before I saw it. [My dad just cringed that I thought this movie was old. And I bring you the circle of life.] Now, of course, I love Field of Dreams and James Earl Jones and the beautiful representation of Iowa and the good old days of baseball. But when my dad first put the movie on, I did not think these things. I'm pretty sure I thought the movie was old.And then, the other day, I thought wow. In a few years, there is going to be a generation of children who just know me as Reggie's Mom. Or Reilly's Mom.
Little Kid at School: Who is that lady carrying all those amazing cupcakes and 15 Mylar balloons?
Other Little Kid: Oh, that's Reilly's mom. It's her birthday.
Little Kid on the Baseball Team: Why is that lady wearing a shirt that says "I love the Coach" and holding a banner that says "Reggie West is the Best"?
Other Little Kid: That's Reggie's mom. And Coach B's wife. You know how she is.
I won't have a name. Or an identity at all really. I'll just be that psychotic mom who baked too many cupcakes again and won't stop suggesting a PTA Yoga fundraiser. I mean sure, these times will be the highlight of my life. I secretly can't wait. Notice how I already have a slogan that will be on my child's posters. But still. It's weird. I'm still young! And to these kids, I will be anything but.
Okay, I'm exaggerating. But still, it makes me wonder...am I ready for this? Not motherhood, I'm totally set to be a Mama. I mean diapers, love, no sleep, reading, child rearing, singing, keeping another human being healthy and well, ice cream cones, teaching children everything they need to know to survive and be successful in the world...that's just cake. Peaches and cream. Kittens. Simple! For this, I am so ready. Bring on the babies, I say!
What I am not ready for... is being the next generation. Being the recipient of the eye roll. I am the eye roller!! I'm guessing when you are a Mama, you can no longer whine? That's just out of the question? And I have to say things like "No TV before your homework is finished" ? And "No ice cream before dinner" ? Maybe I can say the homework one, because I'm a teacher and all, but not the ice cream one. I refuse. How can I? I JUST had ice cream for dinner the other night. As in, in complete place of the meal. I think it's a mandatory summer ritual. Sigh. This is what I am not ready for. This transformation that you HAVE to make when you become a mom. And there is no choice. Sure, you can be young and youthful and fun. My parents are the youngest and the funnest. For real, they're little whippersnappers! Just look at em.
No one is younger or funner than these two. You can be the youngest and the funnest, but you are still the parents. The next generation. I will be the next generation. You can wear your cute little sundress with your cowboy boots and kiss your hubby, but your kids will look at you and say "Ew, Mom!". They just will. There's no way to stop it, it's a fact of life.
And Husband and I will just look at each other and smile and pour a glass of wine. Or four. And watch a really old movie, like Avatar. And whisper about our memories and how we can barely imagine what life was without our kiddies. And then we will remind them that our love is the reason they are alive, the reason their very beings came into existence, and I will kiss him again. And one will look at the other and say "Geez, what's with Mom?"
Except our baby will in fact just be a baby forever. And if it does happen to ever break all the rules and grow up on me, it will think I'm the coolest Mama ever. And want to tell me everything. And love my taste in movies and music. (Mom, can we listen to Michael Buble again? He's so awesome.) And will never act up, so I'll never have to say that sentence about TV and homework. And that is the cloud that I can live on for 5 more weeks. So there. :)