THE CONDITIONS OF UNCONDITIONAL LOVE
It's one thing to name the love between us as "unconditional,"
it's another to put that into practice.
I believe that you love me no matter what the conditions,
but you must admit that, under some conditions,
you love me just a little bit less.
I can tell when you're annoyed at me.
You don't hide it very well.
Even if you bite your tongue,
mask your frustration,
take ten deep cleansing breaths,
I'm still aware of your anger.
Your milk tastes mad.
I don't take it personally.
I know how great I am.
You're just in a mood.
It'll pass.
Once you have a nap.
YOU CRY IT OUT, BITCHES
What is going on?
Everything was fine.
You were nursing me,
cuddling me,
picking me up
when I cried
in the middle
of the night.
But now?
Nothing.
Oh, sorry.
I guess it's not NOTHING.
You do come in and pat my back
WHILE I'M SCREAMING MY LUNGS OUT,
and say, "There, there."
for TWO MINUTES
and then you're gone.
Well I've got news for you...
Thats not comforting, that's just ANNOYING.
Oh, I know what this is about!
You're reading that asshole Ferber again, aren't you?
You're trying to get me to self-soothe
You're shirking your responsibilities
as MY PARENTS.
You're cutting the cord.
AGAIN.
Richard Ferber is a fucking crazy person.
But you listen to him!!
You adhere to his teachings.
You don't sway from his advice.
You may as well be scientologists
I'm telling you...
the guy is NUTS!
Who would tell a parent NOT to pick up their crying baby?
You don't know
the extent
of my emotional distress.
I can't speak.
I can't tell you what's going on.
I can't articulate the nuances of my emotional journey.
I CAN cry.
Loudly.
For a long time.
That's all I got.
Sure, I'll fall asleep eventually.
And you'll get a good night's sleep
TONIGHT.
I, however, will wear the emotional scars
from this little exercise
in ruthlessness
FOREVER.
But, y'know..
if you're okay with that.
I'VE NEVER SEEN THIS MAN BEFORE IN MY LIFE
Whoa.
What the hell is going on here?
Who is this man
and why are you handing me to him
with a huge smile on your face?
It's been my impression thus far
that you're alert to the threat
of nefarious strangers
who might threaten my well-being.
So it seems more than a little odd
that you'd walk up to this man-
this man dressed
in a bright red
polyester
suit
with
a fake beard
and rheumy eyes-
and hand him your BABY.
And TAKE PHOTOS
to preserve
the memory
of this event.
This is not for me.
I do not cherish this moment.
In fact,
in the future
I will only
be able to recall
the experience
when I see
the photograph of myself
red-faced and screaming
on the lap of a man
dressed as a buffoon
who stares expressionless
into the middle distance.
I'M NOT OKAY
When I bonk myself really, really hard
on the edge of the coffee table...
When I fall down 'cause I'm just learning to walk
and I'm still not that steady on my feet...
When I slip off the swing 'cause you were checking
your iPhone and not watching me as carefully
as you should have...
Guess what?
That shit hurts!!
You've got to know it does.
"You're okay! You're okay!"?
Do you honestly think you're gonna trick me into thinking
I didn't just get an enormous goose egg
on my forehead?
Or that my knee isn't gonna bleed like a motherfucker?
Or that bruise on my elbow is just a smudge of dirt?
When was the last time YOU smacked a vulnerable part
of your anatomy against a hard, unforgiving object?
It HURT, right?
Now imagine everyone around you just dismissing your
pain with an idle wave of the hand
and a pat on the head
And an "Oh, you're okay."
And, even though you actually felt the lump raising on your
head and in your throat, you had to smile gamely through
your discomfort, because you could see that everyone was
just so INVESTED in your not crying and making a fuss?
If you understand a fraction of what I'm trying to tell you,
then you understand that "okay" is exactly what I am not.
However...
I wouldn't say no to a lollipop.
YOU'RE STARTING TO SCARE ME
You know that moment in a thriller
When the hero enters the serial killer's lair
And it's a shrine of snapshots of the next victim?
The walls are covered in pictures.
There's usually a scrapbook...
Our home is starting to look like a serial killer lives here
And the next target of his (or her) fixation is me.
This makes me uncomfortable, to say the least.
Over-documentation is the earmark of an obsession
taken too far,
One that can only end very, very badly.
iCONFESS
iHave
to
say
that
sometimes
iLove
your
iPhone
more
than
iLove
you.
iSorry.