Having given birth to one of the opposite gender, I assumed at some point in his life this would be an issue, much the way weight is with the female gender. Whether the “perceived” issue was his actual physical size, of which there is a strong possibility at some point he will dislike having been born of two people who do not weigh a combined total of 300 pounds together and are each below average height for their respective measures, or whether out of some perceived stroke of genetic misfortune would come in some locker room comparison in the form of a small penis syndrome sort of way, (btw did you know there are support groups for this, don’t believe me, check this article out for an interesting perspective on how Americans set immeasurable standards based on the porn industry and the related problems that causes). Admittedly, I assumed, ok hoped, if it came in the locker room sort of way, I would probably be left in the dark of such situation because what could be more humiliating than having to explain said situation to your mother and that we would have instilled enough self-confidence in him that it would be a non-issue. What I didn’t expect was for my first-born to want to grow up before the age of 2 and to direct his unhappiness with being little by trying to compensate in the form of “big” everything. It started when we first began dancing around potty training and bought the standard potty chair for our bathroom, before he was even 2. He humored me with sitting on it for maybe a week, and by humor me I mean he would plop his little bum down for like 10 seconds stand up and say “all done” then dive for the standard toilet saying NO BIG ONE!!! Back then he couldn’t even climb on it himself, but already he was determined not to be “different”, in this case different from his Mama and Papa. Despite all measures taken to ensure that he will always feel like he could/can be whoever he wants to be, he wants to be just like us. Heart Flutters. Don’t worry I’m not naive, I understand this stage will pass, probably soon and when later in life he has his hearts set on being a professional wrestler or some unlikely role model, I’ll wish back to the days he wanted to be like us, although a better us because there’s always room for improvement. What I wasn’t prepared for was the constant battle and demanded reassuring that everything he was doing/getting/eating was “BIG.” Give him a sippy not full to the brim of milk, how.dare.you, No Mama BIG MILK BIG ONE. Don’t even dream of trying to give him toddler eating utensils, who do you think you are. Thank G-D, he likes his toddler plates because there is no fecking way he is getting to use our “big” and oh so very breakable more like easy to shatter ones. The newest most popular word in the house is now “BIG”! Usually used argumentatively when given something he perceives as “small” in the form of “NO BIG ONE.” Everything must be super sized to adult proportions. Because it is impossible to always have the time/effort/sanity to counter these demands we try to use them as a learning experience and I just try to accept the fact that this one wants to grow up too quickly and other times let’s be honest I just comply while I bite my nails and hope to fecking g-d that he doesn’t break something or spill his entire cup of milk on his sister’s head.
To further illustrate what is wrong with our society and why there are articles on “Small Penis Support Groups” an illustration from someecards.com
“Genius is more often found in a cracked pot than a whole one!” -E.B. White
Somehow I feel like E.B. White may not have had the exclamation point at the end, but I feel it’s important. To whittle this down, I think it really means who the H is perfect and why the H would you want to be. So welcome to our family, our perfectly little cracked pot, because while most definitely not perfect, most days I wouldn’t change a thing.
That means that most days are spent wrangling a 2 year old while trying to pay attention to a 5 month old, keeping track of the zoo, 2 hound dogs, 2 naughty cats and a partridge in a pear tree and trying to keep some semblence of sanity and a minimal level of hygiene. OK so mayyyyybeeeee there’s not the partridge, but I assure you it’s a zoo nonetheless. As a former full time working mother, I must admit, I thought you stay at home moms had it easier. This is working mother lie number 1, it makes us feel better about leaving our children at daycare, or at least it did for me. When I realized that not only did I not love being a lawyer but I had the rest of my life to not love being a lawyer, I did what any young lawyer mama with a mountain of student loan debt and an understanding employer would do, I went down to two days a week after the birth of Philippa aka “Pippa” my second bambino, who trailed her brother’s birth by a very short 19 months.
Now I leave the chaos that is being a mostly stay at home mom for a workcation two days a week, where I’m constantly waiting for someone to yell “NO MINE” “Me Have Some” at me, but utterly enjoy the silence that is my office and the ability to pee on my own. Welcome to my cracked pot.