Baby Genesis (Part 3)
Patience for everything other than your child goes to zero.
Patience for everything other than your child goes to zero.
Before Children, I had patience for everything other than children. I had the patience to wait in line, patience to listen to friends’ drama, patience to tolerate office and extended family politics, patience to tolerate all kinds of stupidity that the world had to offer because I inadvertently had too much free time and didn’t realize it... I would happily line up at an event venue and wait to get in or wait in line for that rollercoaster ride at a theme park for 45 minutes in direct sunlight. Appetizers taking 30 minutes to get to your table after ordering? No problem. There’s plenty of alcohol to go around.
This was my definition of children [ chil-druhn ] prior to having children:
noun
plural of child
a type of annoyance on par with mosquitoes
an irritation equivalent to that of a bad rash that won’t go away
an expensive investment that does not yield financial returns until you are retired, if you happen to be extremely lucky
a two-legged animal that has not been properly domesticated
high-efficiency snot and poop generator
I liked babies and infants up to a point as they were much like a sack of potatoes, and once potatoes starting being ejected from that sack I started losing interest. Children were meant to be seen (if at all) and not heard (ideally).
After having my first child, my perspective on patience and perception of time changed:
Time was of the essence. That extra five minutes could mean the difference between pooping in the potty and pooping in public without any diapers on.
Related to the point above, you’re more willing to pay people money to do things for you so that you don’t have to do them yourself, things like laundry, house cleaning, etc.
30 seconds is an eternity if you see your child one moment and the other, he or she isn’t where you last saw them.
You have no interest in your single friends’ daily dramas. Breakups, rebounds, new flames, petty problems, work issues, hobby issues... you just couldn’t be bothered to know. For some reason, as soon as you start a family, you start thinking you’re somehow more mature, responsible and have meaningful commitments and interactions in life. Do I want to hear about your latest swipe right on Tinder or Bumble? No, and not because I might be jealous. It’s because I literally just scooped a turd out of the bathtub and have to figure out what to do with the turd that is stuck near the entrance of the drain so that my child does not get cholera the next time she takes a bath in toilet water.
A turd in hand is better than two in the brush?