So, I started working on a post about why parenting is cool — until I realized: it isn’t.
It can’t be. Cool is for people with time on their hands. Hours to think about their hair and clothes and new music. Days to fret over choosing hippest possible frames for their glasses. Weeks to find the best local coffee shop. And that’s fine. I understand appeal of that lifestyle.
But it’s not for parents.
We parents haven’t seen any new indie movies or fretted over the perfect messenger bag to use while riding our fixed gear bicycles. We are too sleep deprived to go clubbing.
We have play-dough stuck under our fingernails and Raffi running through our heads.
We pack our kids a healthy lunch every day. We worry over little psyches and social-emotional health. We fill out school paperwork and write checks for every fund raiser. We know how to rotate acetaminophen and ibuprofen for maximum fever reduction.
As I write this, I am sitting on a stool in my bathroom, holding a laptop, keeping my 3-and-a-half-year-old company as she poops. No one on this earth considers that “cool.” But she just told me she loves me “more than anything.” So there.
Parenting isn’t cool; it’s important. And it’s when you realize that being cool isn’t important.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have crucial work to do. Nora says it’s time for me to wipe her bottom.