Friday, January 17, 2014

I am a phony faker

Tell me I am not alone in being a phony faker.  I mean all mothers are.  Surely.  For example, when your precious child asks you to play trucks for the fiftieth time that day and you feign enthusiasm as you crawl around in the floor being told exactly how to play properly.  Phony faker right there.  No mother wants to play trucks 24 hours a day.

Or when you eat that bite of food/treat/whatever your learning to share child offers you and thank them over and over for sharing with you.  Phony faker.  

I am a phony faker when I pretend that wiping butts is better than changing poopie diapers.  Nope they are both gross and I long for the day Destructo can take care of this aspect of his personal hygiene.

When I eat dinner and rave about something even if it isn't something I want/like, yeah phony faker.

When I read the same book for the bazillionth time even though I know all the words and could actually sit with my eyes closed and just recite it, phony faker.

What are your guys phony fakisms?

When I go for a way too long walk that makes me ache (you know because I am pregnant and as I have said before pregnancy doesn't like my back) to see the logging trucks and am oh so excited when we get to see them, phony faker.

But we do these things with as much enthusiasm as we can muster because childhood is fleeting.  I don't want to have to look back when I am gray and wrinkled and wish I had played trucks a little more, or fought imaginary fires, or read whatever book he is obsessed with one more time.  I want to know that I was present in my child's life and had fun with him.  I want him to remember me as the one who always loved playing with him, or reading to him, or eating yet another playdough biscuit with him.  Because when all is said and done in my life, raising my kids will most likely be the most important thing I ever do.