Momservation: Anyone who says they love the infant stage is not currently in the infant stage.
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You know what I love about babies?
They grow up.
Sure, I love me a good baby snuggle, kissing their soft cheekies, smelling their sweet new human scent.
But I also love handing them back to Mom. No tag backs.
Those babies are sure adorable, but you can keep your dirty diapers, sleepless nights, trying to figure out what they’re crying about, spit-up stained shirts, Ground Hog Day routines. I’ll take a kid who can wipe their own butt, tell me when their ear hurts, can buckle their own seat belt, and make a Disneyland ride height limit any day.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved being a parent to my babies. But I have always maintained that infancy was not my best genre. When they handed me my infant at the hospital I was like, “Wait, wait, wait. I thought you got these things when they were like six. Where do I get one of those?”
Plain and simple, older kids are just more fun.
Exhibit A:
Went to a Sacramento River Cats game this last weekend thanks to my friends at Smile Generation. Hubby and I and our two kids ages 11 and 12 were in the front row, right at first base – fantastic seats. A couple sat down in the row behind us with their baby who looked less than a year. Here’re the differences in our night at the ballpark experience and you tell me which you think is better:
– Got my own seat, didn’t have to hold a kid on my lap, hands free ready to catch a foul ball and eat and drink without a tag team.
– Had two kids with gloves ready to catch a screaming fly ball, didn’t have to worry about using a popcorn bucket as a makeshift glove/shield.
– Everything I needed fit in my cute little side pouch wallet purse as opposed to carrying a diaper bag that comes with its own back brace.
– Absolutely no guilt feeding half-grown kids a dinner of cotton candy, soda and nachos with extra cheese.
– My child could excuse themselves to the bathroom and not have everyone within three rows wave off the stench while commenting, “WooHoo! Someone got a hold of some chili cheese fries with extra onions!”
– You could have an intelligent conversation with your kid about player stats, pitch speed, and team records instead of trying to entertain a fussy baby in a two-square foot space.
– I could have a few beers and not worry about getting my breast-feeding baby drunk.
– Having your kid turn to you after getting on the Jumbo Screen and exclaiming, “This is so much fun!” vs. trying to get your kid not to pull the hat off the person in front of them the whole game.
– Have your kid leave with a baseball from the first base coach because they used their “please” and “thank you” instead of leaving early because the work outweighed the recreation.
God love the people who still tried to get out and have some fun with their baby. But I knew without a doubt, we were having WAY more fun than they were. Even after I had a kid crash after a sugar high into a whiny mess and another start moaning the game was too long and they were going to be too tired to go to school the next day.
When we cut the game short to get our fun-tired kids home I swear I saw a mom sitting with her too cool teenager smugly smile and mouth to me, “No tag backs.”