These fancy accessories come in two different styles. The first style powers a mom through many long dinner time battles, repetitive bedtime stand-offs, early morning wake up routines, and redundant arguments including such awesome phrases as “I can’t”, “I need help”, “I didn’t know”, “It’s not my fault”, and “Waaahhhhh”. These little suckers give me the power to know The Bomber has just scaled the baby gate and is currently pouring herself two fingers of Wild Turkey behind the bar while I’m in the bathroom attempting to take a four minute shower. They conveniently clue me in to the fact that The Comedian is currently working on the latest saga in The Lifestyles Of The Rich And Famous – Malibu Barbie Edition… instead of working on re-writing the homework she “already finished” that no one (including her) can read.
The second kind works in a somewhat opposite fashion. They’re the reason I’m able to change the most gruesome diaper known to man without flinching when everyone else tears up and runs from the room. They’re the force that allows me to be thrown up on four times in two hours and not raise an eyebrow. They’re the spirit that tells me my child (who’s hair isn’t combed, teeth aren’t brushed, hasn’t bathed since Thursday, and is currently on level 9 of Operation Booger Extraction 2011) is the cutest baby ever born. Anywhere. They tell me everything’s fine, when in fact I’m 2.3 seconds from ultimate meltdown. They’re the pep talk I need to make it through “just one more (fill in completely obvious stall technique here)”. They’re the voice in the back of my head insisting I’m not tired and that it’s normal to feel dizzy and see double after only sleeping 3 hours in 2.5 days. In short, they lie to me. And, I have to admit, it’s the sweetest lie I’ve ever been told.
