How The Mighty Have Fallen

I was 17-years-old when I left for college. Since then I’ve basically lived on my own. I worked through college and the summer, and paid all the bills I generated. Of course my parents were around to help me if I needed it, but I’ve always been very independent. Even as I learned to become a “unit” with my husband, we still had our individualism within our marriage. So you could basically say I’ve been doing my own thing for the past 21 years.

Then comes this boy. This little bitty boy. This teeny little boy. This miniature human being who can’t even speak English…. who just declares himself King of the Castle. He wants all the attention. He’s all in the videos… dancing. He yells and he screams. He has no patience. He gets louder and louder. He demands what he wants and he wants it now. This tiny little TYRANT. My son… I’m talking about my son.

My son, Jack, is 5 months old. In the last 5 months I’ve been spit on, scratched, hit, peed on, kicked and head-butted. I’ve been fussed at, reprimanded and cussed out. I’ve been told I wasn’t fast enough. I’ve been told I wasn’t comfortable enough. Sometimes I’m not allowed to leave the room. Sometimes I’m not allowed to eat or sleep. Yet… I let him stay.

People keep telling me “hang in there, it gets better”, and I’m to the point where I have to respond “How, Sway?”. But I figure it has to be true in some form or fashion or else everyone would only have one child. Right? I mean, if it didn’t get better… why on earth would anyone put themselves through this a second, third or in my grandmother’s case, an eighth time? I try and think back… did I do this to my parents? I was a well-behaved child. Exemplary, actually. There’s no way I could’ve done this. So what gives? How is he able to control me? Why do I have thousands of pictures and videos of him on my phone? Why do I smile every time I think about him?

Because he’s tiny. For some reason, a miniature version of a human is irresistible. God knew what he was doing when he decided how we would reproduce. He knew there would be times that Gizmo would turn into a Gremlin. Somehow… being able to observe a tiny little carbon copy of an adult eases the discomfort. In a lot of our cases.. they even have some of our features. You see your eyes, your smile, your tendency to sleep with your mouth open and your right hand behind your head in miniature form. You even make things up that aren’t even there. “He has my sneeze!” “She blinks just like me!” Tiny little hands and feet, with little munchkin voices. How could you resist? This paragraph is a nice little “fluff piece” isn’t it? It’s the explanation we tell ourselves. But it isn’t the truth. Not at all.

BABIES ARE GIVEN MIND CONTROL

He got me. Be careful, he'll get you too.

The truth is when that baby first came out there was nothing cute about it. It had no color. It was covered in goop. A lot of them had misshapen heads. It was an odd little creature you gave birth to and, in those first few moments, you wondered what happened. You thought to yourself they looked weird but you didn’t dare say it out loud. Then something happened. You hear it all the time, I even said it myself: “He opened his eyes and looked at me, and I said ‘Hi Jack, I’m your Mommy’ and fell in love”. That's cute, but no, that’s not what happened. You looked in their eyes and they LOCKED. YOU. IN. In that moment, that tiny helpless infant exerted full and ultimate power over you. Ironic isn't it? You lost. You are no longer your own person. Cue the Birdbox memes, because that’s what you should’ve done. But you looked and THEY GOT YOU.

It’s done. You’re done. They own you. You will pick boogers from their nose. You will get poop on your hands and not give it a second thought. They will pee on your shirt and you’ll forget to change it… or think to yourself it was only a little bit of pee, no biggie. They will keep you up at night. They will even keep you up while they sleep. And just when you think you’re out for the count, they will "coo". They will smile. They will laugh. They’ll reach for you. You’ll pick them up and they’ll nestle their face right in the crook of your neck. They’ll call you “Mama” or “Dada” for the first time. Just like the clink of the teacup, they’ve got you again. And again and again. And again and again for the rest of your life.

Mind control. Think about it. Did you really want to say “peek-a-boo” 132 times in a row? Did you really want to watch Frozen every day for two months? Weren’t you trying to savor that last bite of chocolate cake you gave up, even though they had their own piece? You let her wear your favorite sweater, knowing you might not ever see it again. He doesn’t need new sneakers, but since they match the ones you have… and now you’re thinking about full matching head-to-toe outfits. That was no epiphany. They did that to you. They are doing it to people you love. Jack did it to me. I’m just hoping I am able to post this before he wakes up. Who knows what might happen to me at that point? This may end up being a post called “Your Baby Isn’t Crying, He’s Trying To Communicate” or “What Your Baby Is Trying to Tell You By Not Sleeping Through The Night”.

Perhaps I should try and create a helmet like Magneto to block it? Nevermind, Jack just woke up. *Kawhi Leonard laugh* I have to go now...