Parenthood of Thirst

"I'm starving of thirst."  I gasped clutching my throat in silent-film style over-acting.

"Get a glass of water" said my friend who had us over for the Family Day holiday.

Family Day, in case you're wondering, was invented (like most holidays are) by the Canadian Government a few years ago after exhausting research indicated that most Canadians go bat-shit crazy during the corridor between Valentine's Day and Mardi-Gras. It seems those weeks are particularly harsh in the Canadian climate-- resulting in many families being either snowed in (à la The Shining) or, seeing no vacation time in sight, feeling snowed into their jobs (à la The Shining).  So the government, ever concerned with the welfare of its citizens, created Family Day in an effort to lower the alarmingly high stats of death-by-animal-topiary.  Or something like that. Plus I think Martin Luther King Jr. day is the same day, or near it, and Canadians wanted to honour someone, too, but we aren't American; it's a slippery slope if we start honouring people from other countries-- where do we stop? Canadians are so polite we'd probably never work again for all the honouring-honourable-people-from-the-world holidays we'd take. No bueno.  So we celebrate Family Day, a fake holiday, so that the entire continent (except Mexico, I guess) can sleep in and hang out together.

"I'm starving of thirst." I exclaimed as I slammed the empty glass down on the kitchen table like a triumphant frat boy finishing a drinking game.
"Why are you so thirsty?" my friend asked unhappy that I probably dented her wooden table with my ferocity.
"More importantly, what's the water equivalent to starving? I know there is one. But what is it?"

My kids were doing laps around her kitchen, to her living room and back again.  Kiddo #1 was pretending to be a fairy princess, Kiddo #2 didn't give a crap what she was doing and was just running after her and giggling.

"I'm going deaf of thirst!" I said, as I filled the glass a second time.
"No. That's not right. Can you pass the fajita stuff?"
"Yeah. Well, you're not starving of thirst. Or going deaf of thirst. But what is it?"
The sizzle of the fajita veggies hitting the hot pan made a sound that made Kiddo #2 say "Whatsat?"
Kiddo #1 stopped and said, "Hey, buddy! It's the food cooking. Now let's pretend YOU'RE a giant rain cloud and I'm a fairy and I can't get wet because the water messes up my wings and I can't fly and then, I have to get home to a giant birthday party, but I can't get there fast enough if I walk. Ok? Go!"  Kiddo #1 began flitting around while Kiddo #2 looked at me, raised an eyebrow, threw his arms up high in the air and began screaming and chasing her all over again.

"You'd think two English majors would be able to figure this one out, eh?"
"I'm something of thirst. What is the word?"
My friend flipped the chicken and tapped the spatula on the side of the pan.
"I'm freezing of thirst? No." I gulped back more water. Whatever the right word is, that's exactly how I feel right now.

I'm up here for Family Day, despite having left Husband at home (which technically means I didn't have my whole family with me but he had to work), because this friend is my Very Best Girlfriend (if you search that on the blog I'm sure you'll get all the hilarious references to how important VBGs are in a life) and she IS family.

"I'm sweltering of thirst. I'm suffocating of thirst?"
"Keep trying, Mamacita."  Thanks for the support, VBG.   My kids continued racing in circles around VBG's upstairs while hot things cooked and spattered on the stove. Squeals of laughter rang through the house. Or whatever. I found them joyous because they weren't tearful or obnoxious super sonic screams (which are ever-present poolside and make me want to murder parents that can't seem to hear them, but maybe after living with Screamers, they have gone deaf. With thirst. Frick. What is that word?).

"Elizabeth, would you have kids again if you could go back in time and talk to yourself like those Freedom 55 commercials?" (if you're not Canadian, you won't get this. I'm sorry (and oddly happy at my little inside joke because inside jokes make you cool). I think if anyone else asked me this question, I would being some  panic attack that she was criticising my parenting skills, or telling me my kids suck, but that's never her hidden agenda. Rather, VBG can't hide anything, so if I knew she thought I suck as a parent, she'd just ask me "Do you think you're a good parent?" I know she just honestly wants to know.

Nonetheless, I stop worrying about my dire need for hydration and look at her, silent.  There are a few ways I can answer this question including just asking her why she wants to know, so I'm silent trying to figure out what tactic with which to respond.  I mean, really, no one is supposed to ask that. It's kinda like asking "Hey, uh, are you a man or a woman?" or saying "I think I just ran over your cat."  Only childless people ask it; there's an unspoken understanding that all parents have about having kids and whether you'd do it all again.

And, there's the response that all parents are programmed to respond when a childless person asks such a question: "Why, I'm shocked you'd even ask! Of course I'd have kids again! I love every single minute of every single day. There's nothing I would change and no amount of money I would take to trade for having children."

And then, there's the answer you give when two mothers get together.  They can be more honest in their thoughts: "Oh man, I love my kids, but some days I'd like to put them on Ebay."  And they laugh about how one of their kids puked 9 full ounces of milk directly into her bra and how her other kid put a personal pizza on the DVD tray and pressed play. Ha ha ha.

But, see, when you're with your Very Best Girlfriend, a person with whom you have never lied, bent or otherwise did malicious things to the Truth, it's hard to look her in the eye and really answer either one of those.  The biggest lie is that parenthood is rainbows and glitter. But the Truth is that some days are the worst days in the event horizon.  And, frankly, neither one I'd tell a friend, or that green alien from The Flintstones. The Great Kazoo? I don't remember-- and don't be shocked. I can't remember the simple word for dire thirst either.

So, I took another glass of water and said, "Honestly, yes. I would. But, also honestly, I would tell myself a few other things, too. Like: parenting is awesome. But even when it's not, chances are you're too tired to be too upset about it anyway so don't put off having kids if you're worried that you'll have to be perfect. Plus, you'll be too tired to be perfect.  And while we're at it: choose your partner wisely. Don't marry for looks or money or love. Marry for looks and money and love -- two outta three is only ok in songs."

VBG looked at me skeptically. "Looks and money and love? Sounds a little golddiggerish to me."
"Golddiggerish? Nice one. While you're inventing words, why not come up with one that means "extreme thirst."  Anyway, yes, all three are important.  If you love your partner, and he's cute, that's great, but if he's unemployable, or a money-idiot, you won't have a very good life with kids. Kids cost exactly whatever you earn. If you make $20, they cost $20. If you make $2 million, they cost $2 million. So make sure you've at least got $20 or all the love and handsomeness in the world won't get you by. I hope Husband married me for all three."

"Interesting..." I'm sure she said more than that, but Kiddos #1 and 2 came flying into the kitchen pretending to be rocketships (making loud blast-off sounds and jumping like kangaroos).

And, since I was already doing what 30-something people do best (which is to say "being right about everything and expounding in righteousness at the first sign of a captive audience") I continued. "Also, make sure the person you choose is your equal: you don't need another father, or another child-- you're going to be too tired to want an extra of either of those. ...  I'm thirsting of thirst?"  I put down the empty glass and listened to the chicken crackle. I realized that the only thing I was listening to was the crackle and went on a hunt for the kids. As I went downstairs, I called out over my shoulder "Also, I would have kids again, but a GPS implant in each of them would be handy. But I'm too tired to invent one."

Very Best Girlfriend continued cooking while I untangled my son from her vacuum hose. I found my daughter trying to stand on her head while wearing boots on her hands. I didn't even ask what was going on. I righted everyone and returned them upstairs and took another drink.

"I'm blind with thirst? Hmm. Why is this so tricky?"
"Well, having kids is."
"Huh? Oh. Yeah." (truth be told I had no idea what she was talking about because I'm too tired to maintain thoughts for more than 2 minutes)

"I like "suffocating with thirst" but I'm sure that's not right. Sounds poetic though." I stare at my cup and it reminds me of VBG's question.  Would I have kids again? "So anyway, here's the deal: having kids is just like having a baby. Well, like I guess when you have a baby you have a kid, but I mean, like, no one tells you about the shit parts of being pregnant. No one really, truly explains what happens to your body afterwards, or any of that because... well, I suppose part of it is to ensure continuation of the species. If women really knew what having kids would do to them physically and emotionally, I think they'd probably not do it. If men knew what having kids would do to them physically and emotionally, I think they'd probably not do it, too.  But the body does this miraculous thing where you can't physically remember 5 minutes ago, or like, the simple word for extreme thirst, so you have nothing to compare your current situation.  Like, is cleaning this puke/milk out of your bra the worst thing ever? I have no idea: I'm too tired to remember whether I was in a P.O.W. camp during some international war event. In truth, I won't remember that kidlet puked his entire stomach into my boobs in 10 minutes, so who cares? It's an extreme version of "living in the now" that happens when you have kids."  I take another swig of water. I think I've finished off my daily requirement just sitting here postulating. It's making me thirsty, all this chatter.

"I'm dry with thirst? I feel like the closer I get the further away the word goes. Sigh. Plus, kids are amazing. That's the other part-- even after all the shit and puke and screaming and untangling from vacuum hoses, kids are like glasses of water. You didn't know what you were missing but one sip and you can't live without them. But you sure as hell can't remember the word for it."

"Parenthood." said Very Best Girlfriend.
"Yes. I'm Parenthood of thirst."

Sounds right to me.