A week at Disneyland with a 9 year old (my much younger brother) is enough to make anyone question childrearing.
I’ve become quite content with the idea of a baby. A sweet cooing infant to snuggle and gurgle and grin. But a child? Why does it have to become a child? I don’t have an imagination. I don’t know how to play. I don’t like toys that make noise or corn dogs or people in character suits. Furthermore, a whining toddler is 456 times worse than a crying infant.
This week I saw children throw fits and fling $5 fruit bars and sob and cry and whine and weep at DISNEYLAND. It was stressful enough at the “happiest place on Earth.” How do parents manage to entertain them at home? Video games and TV are out unless you want to be branded the WORST MOTHER IN THE WORLD. Toys with noises will drive me insane. And no matter how innocent the activity, there’s always some jackass to tell you sandboxes, swimming pools, and swing sets are unsafe. How? How do parents do it?
I realize this is completely premature, but it’s seriously stressing me out.
On the other hand, I saw princesses who were 3 feet tall and toddlers play swordfighting with their grandparents, and lots and lots of children hugging characters with mile-wide smiles. It made your heart melty.
I also saw a woman who was in love with her baby. Flirting and tickling and cooing like she had never seen anything so wonderful as this child. She was so enamored I thought she must be its auntie. That is until she whipped out her breast and started feeding the baby. I couldn’t help but stare for a moment. I wanted to be like “YEAH! You GO GIRL! Exercise your federally protected right to breastfeed in public!” But I just watched the precious scene for a few seconds. “Flash” Mountain. Pssh. Breastfeeding is way cooler.