Parenting is like your very first roller coaster ride. Here you are, cruising along serenely with nary a care in the world, sunlight shining on your face and sharing a laugh or two with your partner. You have your first child. Before you know it, you are inching your way towards a reasonably high altitude. You look down and a bit of unease weighs in. You laugh it off nervously, telling yourself that it is fine, really. Millions have done it before you and lived to tell the tale. What's the worst that could happen, you ask yourself tentatively. The coaster reaches it's first height creakily and totters over the edge, maybe with a twinge of regret at subjecting you fine folks to what will unfold shortly. You peek over the edge, concerned. After this briefest of reprieves, all hell breaks loose. There is really no gentle way of putting it. Eyes are pulled out of your socket, your stomach frequently hits the roof of your skull, your face and other body parts are consistently re-arranged. You are screaming your guts out (at least what is left of them), clawing at your poor partner. You question your sanity more than a few times, you feel like you are flying one minute and come crashing down the next. You appear at the very end of the ride, eyes wide open, looking a bit crazed with maybe a facial tic or two thrown in, clinging to your partner for dear life. You climb shakily out of the car and swear never to do it again. If you are one of the lucky ones who were among the first in line when common sense was doled out and among the last when masochistic tendencies were, this ride will be fondly relegated to "Orlando trip 2012" on your Facebook timeline, peppered with many likes and happy comments. There are of course the others who come back for seconds when bad sushi has been given a free rein to their innards. Sometimes, multiple times. You won't see many pictures on their timelines. They simply don't have the time or the gumption to do so. The facial tics have also multiplied exponentially, it is not a pretty sight.
You can tell parents apart in a crowd. They don't make eye contact. If they do, they fix you with a stare that says "Don't you dare mess with me". They communicate like Mani Ratnam's characters do, via staccato mumbling. They are spent, out of breath and know all too well that long attention spans are actually well practiced tune-outs. They are shifty, constantly looking over their shoulders. Their clothes sense is at best described as odd since they wear what happens to have made the laundry that week AND managed to dodge the hot pink tights thrown casually in with the white load. Their eyes are bloodshot with many hours spent in the ER with tiny objects that have magically made it into various orifices of the human body. They are very well read, with honorary degrees in biology, finance, speech decoding and advanced computer skills with diplomas in electrician tech, plumbing and advance cleaning mech. Don't smirk, do YOU know how to take the hot pink out of white clothes? Hmmmm, I didn't think so. They are photographers, short order cooks, magicians who have a varied repertoire from making boo-boos disappear with a kiss to vanquishing under-the-bed monsters with a frying pan, party organizers and guidance counsellors. They are blessed with a tough hide that does not take it personally and smiles benignly when things such as "I hate my family", "Why did you guys have me?", "You people are so lame. I wish I had better parents" or even "I HATE my life" are said and have a practiced nonchalance when doors are slammed on the face.
So, whether you are sitting at your child's first violin concert, desperately deleting old photos to make room for the new while nudging your exhausted partner awake (the dimmed lights have lulled them to a deep sleep and the snores are too loud) or lazily contemplating Project Earthling Procreation for the very first time, I have only one thing to say....don't climb on that roller coaster car if you are not the adventurous kind. Your innards will definitely thank you.
You can tell parents apart in a crowd. They don't make eye contact. If they do, they fix you with a stare that says "Don't you dare mess with me". They communicate like Mani Ratnam's characters do, via staccato mumbling. They are spent, out of breath and know all too well that long attention spans are actually well practiced tune-outs. They are shifty, constantly looking over their shoulders. Their clothes sense is at best described as odd since they wear what happens to have made the laundry that week AND managed to dodge the hot pink tights thrown casually in with the white load. Their eyes are bloodshot with many hours spent in the ER with tiny objects that have magically made it into various orifices of the human body. They are very well read, with honorary degrees in biology, finance, speech decoding and advanced computer skills with diplomas in electrician tech, plumbing and advance cleaning mech. Don't smirk, do YOU know how to take the hot pink out of white clothes? Hmmmm, I didn't think so. They are photographers, short order cooks, magicians who have a varied repertoire from making boo-boos disappear with a kiss to vanquishing under-the-bed monsters with a frying pan, party organizers and guidance counsellors. They are blessed with a tough hide that does not take it personally and smiles benignly when things such as "I hate my family", "Why did you guys have me?", "You people are so lame. I wish I had better parents" or even "I HATE my life" are said and have a practiced nonchalance when doors are slammed on the face.
So, whether you are sitting at your child's first violin concert, desperately deleting old photos to make room for the new while nudging your exhausted partner awake (the dimmed lights have lulled them to a deep sleep and the snores are too loud) or lazily contemplating Project Earthling Procreation for the very first time, I have only one thing to say....don't climb on that roller coaster car if you are not the adventurous kind. Your innards will definitely thank you.
