Here was my night at the ballpark. The ballpark elevator operator said, “Ooo, you’re in the suite.” The elevator occupants tried to supress their envy but could not. And that was worth the price of admission. Which was nothing. La la LA. From there the evening went downhill.
I walked into an air-conditioned suite with an incredible view and a 2 to 1 boy to adult ratio. The boys ranged from 1 month to 12 years. Two dozen boys, one dozen adults, plus one quiet girl who hung out with her mom and didn’t play tug of war with my fallopian tubes.
Everyone was playing with their little boys, and discipling their little boys, and counting to three with great portent. It wasn’t that I wanted a little boy of my own, it was just that EVERYONE ELSE had a little BOY AND I DIDN’T.
(Everyone else has a pony! I wanna pony!)
Then the cutest of the little boys, whom I have met before, came to me and said:
“Blahgunr, arpurnt erm on my hand!” And he showed me his hand. It looked fine.
“I’m sorry?” I answered.
“Blahgunr, arpurnt erm ON MY HAND!” And he showed me his hand.
(Uh, beg pardon?) “Say that again.”
“Blahgunr! Arpuuuuurnt … errrrrm … ON. MY. HAAAAAAAND.”
I found his Mom, and another Mom, and neither of them could understand him. And that made me think I’m not such a helpless freak. Maybe I could play Mom for a minute.
Then that same little boy began running in circles and ignoring his Mom barking at him to “Stop!”
“Stop!” I barked. And he froze. That was awesome. Until Gary pulled at my elbow.
“What are you doing? You can’t yell at that little boy; he isn’t yours! What is WRONG with you?”
(Don’t touch the other girls’ ponies! What is WRONG with you?)
THEN as I blinked back tears, the circle-running hand-boy brought his cup of ice to Gary, and gave it to him, and Gary knew to go put water in the cup. Stomp on my guts little running hand-boy! Thanks! (He didn’t thank Gary for the water, I know, I watched. His Mom might be reading this. FYI, Kelly.)
So then for an hour everyone continued on, teaching their children to say, “Thank you,” and how to be Introduced, and how to Share, and then oh yes, you knew it, someone brought out the one month-old womb-damp baby that still had RIB marks on its HEAD and began bottle-feeding him.
I thought, “I could do tha — ”
“DO NOT FEED THAT GIRL’S PONY!” I heard in my head and then I just decided to cry.
I went over to the baby, tears streaming out of my eyes, and told the father that it was his fault I was crying, his baby was tweaking my hormones. (Using a baby as a shield, that’s what you call that.) Because I don’t cry pretty. My nose gets red and the fatter I get, the more water weight I lose from my tear ducts. The father was gracious and assured me the baby was no fun, really.
“Oh,” Gary said later, “Were you crying? I noticed your nose was red and your eyes were watering, but I didn’t really know what was going on.”
16 responses to “I Cry In Public! Enjoy My Emotional Pain.”
Geez, woman. andrew’s on bottles for another week or two (if I can ever get the boy to drink out of a cup with a lid – he’s great with cups without lids until it’s time to set them down, then not so much).Anyway, come on over. Feed a baby boy. Don’t cry.
Caroline – it was the sheer VOLUME. EVERYONE was a mom. And the kids were behaved, not like the ones in Target. I don’t think one boy would tempt me to cry.
“the baby was no fun, really” , snork! You crack me up.
The thing is, they AREN’T really very fun, especially when still womb-damp, chortle. Or at Target. But….ahh, I got nuthin.
Oh, Ellen…I have children. And a pony. Sometimes, the pony is better.
I’d rather have a pony than a baby. But I totally know what you mean. When there’s a glut of well behaved children around I want to go to the store and get one. I have friends who have ill-behaved children though so one call to them solves that twinge.
I have daughters and wonder what it would have been like to have sons. I think I did my best with them, and remember lots of time when I could have done better. I wonder what it would have been like not to have had them at all, and how it would have been better/different/better. You pays your money and you makes your choice (or have it made for you) and always wonder about the road not taken.
Baby boys can aim their pee right in your eye, you know.
Love my kids, but when my son was Hand-Boy’s age, I seriously considered putting him in a box in the front yard with a “Free to a Good Home” sign on it.
kids will ruin you life in the most wonderful ways.
I’d yell at someone else’s kid if we were in the same ballpark suite. That’s a place that we’d all agreed to be together in, it’s not like random stranger kids.
I’d probably be paying more attention to the nachos, though.
What you really want are grandkids. Grandkids are perfect.
Ah…Er…Well..At least…This post was very well written. That’s safe to say, right?
I am basically the female incarnation of Mr. Wilson. Never wanted any and if I were moved to tears over a gathering of boys it wouldn’t be for the same reason as yours.
Gaoo – It’s okay, you can go on about how great babies are, I can take it. Today. The other night, not so much. Lauren – Kids can be taught to poop in the toilet. Kids 1, Ponies 0. Amy in StL – I understand other woman have the twinge all the time, and they should have babies. If you only have the twinge when faced with a mob of adorable boys, no kids. Right decision.Big Dot – Gary spoke with the baby Daddy about that very thing, the eye-pee.Kristen – No, not Hand-boy, he was just adopted by his foster Mom. He’s really sweet. Mrs Hall – I like that! Tami – I had two hot dogs, even while weepy.Hattie – I might have great-nieces / nephews someday …Alison – What were you thinking of saying? I deserve it, I should have had kids, I shouldnt yell at kids, what? I usually would say, “You can say anything here, I’m old, I won’t cry,” but damn, I can’t say that anymore. But I won’t cry today, I’m okay now.Bring it!Zayrina – I could have said that the day before yesterday, I can’t explain it. Well, I think it might have had something to do with me being yelled at for raising my voice to a child. It’s like when Gary’s gone the house hierarchy is Me – Dog, when Gary’s there it’s Gary – Dog – Me. If we’d had a kid I would never be allowed to speak harshly to it. Uh, him or her. It? Back to my old self.
Gary would have SO gotten the “It takes a Village to Raise a Child” look and lecture. and an elbow jabbed in his ribs. If a child is running and ignoring his parent — whom you know — using The Voice is not a crime, for pete’s sake.
I sense more and more that Gary and I would not like each other. In fact, I see one of those Star Trek matter/antimatter explosions. The good part would be you’d have a chance at time travel.
Oh, I wasn’t going to say anything mean! I just meant when someone seems to feel sad about not having kids, it’s impossible to say something that doesn’t sound schmuckish, especially if you have kids. and I agree, in a group setting, if a kid should stop, anyone is allowed to tell them to stop, and the parents won’t be offended unless they’re weinies.
Sherri – I think he’s been on a campaign to make me feel bad, and that ended today in the grocery store when he ARGUED with me about municipal bonds, one of the things covered on My Big Test. So he’s settling down now.Allison – Oh! Schmuckish is my new favorite word.