On Becoming What You Swore You'd Never
Before becoming a parent, I swore I’d never be one of those parents who always talked about their kids and nothing else. I would have kids, but they wouldn’t, like, run my life, you know? They wouldn’t take over my Instagram or Facebook. There would be a respectable distance. I would still have time and enthusiasm to talk about art, politics, philosophy to those without kids. I’d keep up with new music, still see movies in the theater. I wasn’t going to become one of “them,” one of those parents whose lives became wholly consumed by their children, whom you couldn’t have a conversation with without them talking about their kids eating and sleeping habits, their shit and piss. I would be a parent, but I would be like, a “cool” parent, you know? I’d still go to shows and smoke cigarettes and stay out late and kids would just be like, another part of my life. I remember when I was in my twenties, I always hated hanging out with parents of young children. They had no concept of the outside world. It’s like hello, the world is more than just your child! There’s global warming and late-stage capitalism and so no! I would not be like them.
But now, now, well…I , um, understand. My life has been consumed by children. I have maybe a 1% energy capacity for anything else. As much as I hate it that every other Instagram photo is of my children, as much as I hate to admit that I have absolutely no interest in politics or art or whatever else is going on, unfortunately, that is my current reality.
And, honestly, I have no desire to talk with anyone who also isn’t also exhausted and fighting in the trenches with young children. I honestly feel like I have nothing in common with you if you also haven’t been up twice in the middle of the night and going through an existential/mid-life crisis while your house looks like the aftermath of a tornado no matter how much you clean. I hate that this has become my life. I really do. I even can slide into resentment territory. I hate that my brain no longer works. The sacrifice of children is one I’m still not sure one I am willing to make, but what do I do now? Abandon them?
They say it gets better, once your kids are older, over four and five, perhaps then you/I can return to the world of the living. But I’m not sure I can do another two years…. I am not out of the tunnel, the trenches, whatever, metaphor you like to use. This is life. Take a deep a breath I tell myself, as I clean up the pee my potty-training daughter unleashes on the bathroom floor and while I’m cleaning it up the dog jumps on the kitchen island to inhale a muffin. Get outside. I tell myself. Watch some weird art movie when the kids are in bed to remind yourself of what is still out there.
It’s all out there, and one day you’ll emerge, too. I hope.