I just sent LD to Time Out for three millionth time this week (hello Wednesday!). Every day without fail, he makes his little brother cry. Granted, I often yell “LDeeeeeeeee!” without even looking – and on the odd occasion, realise that LD is, in fact, nowhere near his baby brother and that Zee is crying in that random way that babies sometimes do. Oops! But the majority of the time, I will turn and find overwhelming evidence for an LD conviction. Like today, Zee flat on his back, crying and the blur of LD running like fuck to escape my wrath. It seems my eldest son finds it necessary to push his brother backwards so that he cracks his head on the floor. Excellent.
What? Zee loves it when I do this!
It makes me wonder. Where did this child come from? What happened to the angelic son I was, frankly, a little smug about?
When LD began childcare, he was the model toddler. He didn’t cry for me when I left, played quietly and was known for his mellow and sweet nature. In the space of six months, he was the child who ran up to the new child and slapped her in the face. During the first day of her orientation. With her mother watching on in horror. Excellent.
So if LD was the child least likely to morph into Devil Child and yet, now brandishes his pitchfork and horns like he was born with them, what other rude awakenings can we anticipate? Who might our children grow up to be….despite our best intentions?
I know, I know, we’re all going to say, “As long as they’re happy, I truly don’t care what my child chooses to do with their life” – but that kind of political correctness has no place in a The Little Mumma blog, now does it? So here’s my real answer. I know if my sons grow up to cover their mouths when they cough and don’t drop the c-bomb in front of the elderly, I’ll be on fire with pride but there are even loftier heights in which I expect them to climb.
Traditionally, parents hoped their children would be doctors and lawyers and privately prayed they wouldn’t be gay or marry outside their own race. Doctors and lawyers are good and all but a little beige. As to having a gay son, hell, why not? If I never have a daughter, at the very least a gay son might oblige an hour-long phonecall about shoes. And if he was a flamboyant hairdresser with a specialty in blonde foils, all the better! And marrying outside our race would mark the end of a line of scary-fluorescent white skin so that could be nice, too.
So, I have a vague idea about who I think my children might be (they make us a lot of money from very early on) but really, I don’t have my heart set on any one thing (except the making a lot of money from very early on). But I got to thinking, ‘What would I absolutely hate them to be?’ It became clear to me to that the things I might dream my sons would become were far less important than the things I definitely didn’t want them to be. Son, you can be anything you want, just please God, NOT THAT!
So, excluding the obvious ‘sociopathic mass murderer’, here is my “Top 5 Things I Hope My Sons Won’t Grow Up To Be Because That Would Be Truly Heinous” list.
5. Collingwood supporter (imagine the ridicule society would heap upon them!)
4. Cricket player (imagine my eyes glazing over and heart stopping from BOREDOM)
3. Sham-WOW presenter (oh please God, NO!)
2. Andrew Bolt (or really anyone who reads The Herald Sun) (just vomited in my mouth a little bit)
and the ultimate thing I pray my sons will never, ever, EVER be
1. a member of the young Liberals (THERE. ARE. NO. WORDS.)
So what has motherhood taught me today? When it’s all said and done, all I really want is for my precious sons to be happy……and politically left.
The Little Mumma 