Personhood: When will my kids realize I am a person?

When is my kid going to realize I'm a human? No seriously, when does that happen? There is lots of talk lately about personhood for our fetus friends, but where's my personhood? This morning the little one crawled into my bed and fell asleep on my face. The drool trickling in my hair was a benign drip and I could have sworn there was a toot. Right on my face. At any given moment, someone is clawing on my personal areas, making demands like a circus trainer or just randomly screaming at me. My hair gets blown back by milk breath on the regular. MAMA! Everything is my fault. From the routine sensation of hunger to the danger of chewing on thumbtacks. Mom's fault! The big one is no better. She blamed me when her hands got dirty from playing in the sandbox after it rained.

You might think I have bad kids. If you don't have any kids yourself and spend your freetime on things like hobbies or making your hair look cute, you're probably thinking, "well just teach them manners!" I will have you know they are regular maitre d's when they deal with other people. We go in public and my kids morph into charming cadets who coo and curtesy like it's a dance audition for Barney up in here. (Come on, you've seen those cheesers.)

But with me? It's like I exist beyond the realm of personhood. My kids assume I require no sleep, for starters. Why just when I was about to doze off in the middle of some mischief (hey, they were confined to the basement, why do I have to be conscious?) someone goes and sits on my head. Impossible! The moment the seat of my yoga pants meets with the dining chair in my kitchen is the unfailing signal for someone to need seconds. Or the cue for someone to dig grape jelly out of her sandwich and for a dollop to land on the floor and then to be stirred with a curious footed pajama. Or the catalyst for one sister to provoke the other sister into a dust rumble that ends in an Oscar-winning moment. I'm just saying, when do I get to eat? Persons need to eat!

I keep thinking as they get older, they'll start to see me as a person too. They'll quit farting in front of me and start feeling bad about asking me to run two flights of stairs to find a particular stuffed bear. Does that ever happen? When do we get to the phase of parenting when my kids are embarrassed to pee on me?

I'd write more, but my kids are demanding a meal. Again! We just had dinner last night guys.

My pumpkin shaped pancakes - nailed it!

Filed under: Fine Whine, My precious

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