Cutting corners

I was a late bloomer in the maternal instinct department. I remember fondly playing with Barbies, always setting up a story with career, house, and great friendships, I guess my definition of success back then included being a journalist moonlighting as an ice-skater living in a pepto-bismoed house and sports car and a white horse in the living room, yes, the horse had to be in the living room.

I can’t remember really enjoying cuddling a doll as it was my own baby.

Later, I remember being in school in a class about vocations (yes I went to catholic school) and they talked how you felt a calling to the type of life you wanted: married life, career life, religious life, and I seriously asked about having a calling to be celibate, you see I defined myself as a plant.

So, Fast-forward to me reproducing. Got lucky. The kid is everything I’m not.

Thank God.

Now, once I was actually contemplating the idea of me having kids I remember thinking about all the cool staff I’d do. They’d call me by my name, wear vintage rock tee shirts, boys would have long hair and girls would do, I don’t know, something equally outrageous.

My kids would identify Mozart and Beethoven’s music in their toddler hood just by listening to it, and know all Beatles songs. And I would read high literature to them every night, something in the lines of Proust’s In search of lost time… In French…

Fast-forward a little more to me cutting corners.

Neo’s watching Hercules for the n-th time.

Can’t name Beethoven’s symphonies but can demand for Apple TV.

The husband asked if she can go to sleep in the pony tail he did earlier today, in the hopes it’ll look good enough in the morning for school.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked

“You don’t waste good hairdos like this one… You have to get at least two good days out them if not more…”

Oh yeah… Someone is going to call social services on me…

Or my mother…