Parenting could probably qualify as a psychiatric disorder. The highs are a lot higher, and the lows are a lot lower, but most days you wouldn’t give up the highs just to lose the lows. If there were meds I could take to even out all the crazy, I’d probably go off ’em. And of course there’s the multiple personality disorder I’ve picked up; the person I am for my kids is way more awesome (and occasionally terrifying) than the person I’m pretty sure I actually am.
I sometimes take my girls on “scientific discovery walks.” We have magnifying glasses. We bring a camera. We turn over rocks and sprinkle sugar for ants and talk about all the NOVAesque magnificence around us. This “Nature Nancy” person is a character I play so my kids won’t freak out when they see a bee and so they’ll grow up to be well adjusted scientists or something. This is momtardation* in its purest form, I know, but I can’t stop.
The real me is done with creepy-crawly things. I no longer eat blackberries from our yard because of this. I won’t grow broccoli because of a similarly disturbing incident involving tiny caterpillars and a large pot of boiling water. I got stung by a bee a few weeks back and my whole arm turned purple. And you can’t kill bees, because the damn planet apparently “needs” them to go on making “food.” Stupid planet.
Don’t get me wrong, nature really is magnificent. Just not as magnificent as the tribal dance I do when I walk into a spider web – especially now that the spiders have grown large enough to carry off my youngest. Don’t even get me started on caterpillars.
And yet, when I’m with the girls, I call spiders our “garden friends.” Oh look, I’ll say, a little friend is in the house, lets help it outside to the garden. *shudder*
I will still stomp on some MF’ing earwigs though. Those things are Satan’s foot soldiers and don’t try to tell me they’re not.
*momtardation = Irrational behavior engaged in “for the sake of the children” that defies logic, common sense, or physics. (For a terrifying, worst-case example, see Jenny Mccarthy. Actually no, don’t. Just don’t.)