I am not a sentimental person by nature. There are things that tug at my heartstrings (videos of people falling off swings, every death ever in Harry Potter, Miyazaki films), but for the most part, all that mawkish shit does nothing for me. I am the type of person who when cleaning my craft room and finding a printed napkin from my wedding, doesn’t bring it to my face and hope to catch a whiff of the day I became a ‘Mrs.’ I think; 1) Why do we still have this? 2) I’m sure the damn thing has spores! 3) Why the fuck did we spend money on custom NAPKINS? And 4) Where’s the trash bin?
Maybe it’s from being raised the quintessential Air Force Brat, or perhaps my innate cynicism allowed me to thrive in the Military-transientesque environment I was raised in. Either way, the end result is that I have a hard time mustering two fucks about most things overly maudlin.
You can imagine my confusion then, as I clutched my son’s changing table to my chest and my eyes began to spill all the tears ever.
Let that sink in. I was standing in the early morning light, bawling over needing to remove a perpetually piss & shit covered padded rectangle from the dresser in my son’s room.
…..Sooooo, what gives?
The King will be 3 next month. I don’t have diapers to change or buttpaste to apply and I’m frickin sad about that. What kind of screwed up Stolkholm mess is parenting?
I have had poop in my face, on my hands, on my shirt, and in my hair. I have had to hand wash accidents so many times that the skin on my hands has cracked from dryness. I have posted about infantile explosions of feces that left poo devastation in our home, and now, you’re telling me that realizing I that I will not have to do it again will turn me in to a blubbering pile of the feels.
So fine.I am a sentimental schmuck now. The clichés of how quickly children grow have pervaded my life and left me hollow and wanting.
I can see the pieces of who he is becoming, stitched together with the threads of my soul.
But seriously, as I continue to give and give, will I find more shit to cry over?