Sunday, July 29, 2012

Oh my God, I forgot about Grandkids.

Holden ran up to me this afternoon and proudly exclaimed, "I'm poopy!". I grabbed the hazmat kit and my gas mask and started changing him, making a remark about how nice it will be to never have to change diapers again once he's potty trained. So, Phoenix said to me, "But mom, what if you and daddy have more kids?"

... And when I stopped laughing and gripping my stomach, I told her that it was never gonna happen, and that Holden was the last ass that I was gonna wipe. Smugly, she says "...but what about when I have kids, you will watch them and change their diapers, right?"

Fuck. Oh my God, I forgot about Grandkids.

I asked her to give me a rough estimate of how many kids she was gonna have. She said a thousand. Times that by three.... holy titties I am gonna be up to my elbows in Grandkids. 

But even with more realistic estimates, having three kids, if they have three kids a piece....that's like bunny rabbit math. And I don't want that many bunny rabbits hanging out at my house.

I am in my twenties (I can still say that for a little while) and I only have 3 and I am losing my damned mind. I don't know how my Grandma did it with seven Grandkids. I would need a Xanax.

So I laid down a few ground rules.

#1. You kids are not allowed to have more than one child a piece if you want my free elderly person daycare services.

The Republic of Grandma says you better pray for that boy

#2. You cannot have children until you are 30.

That gives me a good ten years to get into all of the shenanigans I possibly can (and will) while you are in college.

#3. I will feed them candy right before I give them back to you.

This will be to make you pay for all of the (not so fun) shenanigans you get me into presently

Some examples:

Locking all the rear child safety locks on the car doors and then shutting the door while I buckled you, forcing me to climb into the front seat, bumping the horn with my ass and alerting all of the parents at school that they should be watching the show.

Waiting until I put the only pair of dry clothes I packed on you and then jumping back into the pool.

Singing at the top of your lungs at bedtime and then pretending that you are asleep when someone comes into your room (you fool no one).

Demanding that I wake up every time you have to pee, even though you can totally just do that yourself.

Puking on two entire aisles worth of floor in Target, yourself the cart and me and then looking at me like, "You gonna get that?".

Taking a massive out-the-side-of-the-diaper dump all over yourself in public that was so gnarly that I had to throw out your socks and rinse your shoes and stroller out in the public restroom at the mall, etc...

Oh, trust me, that list goes on and on.

#4. I will watch them ONCE a week with tons of love. Anything more than that is pushing it.

I will be having important drunken games of Bingo to go to (they have to keep that church wine somewhere!) and trips to all sorts of exotic, childless locales (Watch out, Hedonism! Grandma and Grandpa are coming and they forgot their bathing suits!)

I love my kids, God, I love my kids.

But it's like asking someone who's in the trenches at war when they hope to come back again.

Maybe I will soften with all of the (hopefully) many years to come before I even have to think about it again. But I think just in case, I'm gonna start feeding the girls birth control flavored cheerios and ranting like Rochelle on "Everybody Hates Chris" (I ain't raisin' no babies!)

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