Mr. Mary Tyler Mom spoils me. Next month I will have been a mom for six years and not once in that time have I installed or removed a car seat. Or clipped a child’s toe or finger nail.
Don’t hate me, haters. I love my kids and my man loves me. He takes care of all of us.
Well tomorrow Mary Tyler Son and I are taking off for the Bigger City, NYC, to visit Mary Tyler Auntie. Mr. Mary Tyler Mom is staying home to do what husbands do when their wives and kids leave. (Please don’t tell me what that is. Imma stay in my husband loving fantasy world and assume its things like pay the bills and vacuum the rugs. Oh, and clean the fridge. And while you’re at it, deposit the checks in my mail drawer.) Mary Tyler Auntie is a big shot professor with lots of plants, but no kids. That means I need to grow the hell up and learn how to deal with things like car seats.
Mary Tyler Son went down to sleep tonight and The Car Seat Lesson commenced. God. I did not want to learn. I reverted to that petulant child, horrible at math, whose teacher had just called him in front of the blackboard to solve fractions, or long division, or whatever the kids call math today. Heave Ho. Heave the Hell Ho.
The first lesson was in unhooking the latch. I now know what a fifteen year old boy feels like the first time he tries to get to second base. Who in the hell designed those things? Bra hooks are to that awkward boy what the freaking car latches are to this overtired mom. Sigh.
Second lesson was in . . . Good God, people, I’ve already forgotten the second lesson. What I haven’t forgotten was Mr. Mary Tyler Mom saying, “Get it in as tight as you can so it doesn’t slide from side to side.” “That’s what she said,” I said. I could not make this up, people. My husband and I are comedy gold.
The third lesson ended with me straddling the car seat and Mr. Mary Tyler Mom barking, “Now put all your weight into it and pull. Pull!”
Then we shared a cigarette. Mr. Mary Tyler Mom has rolled over and gone to sleep.
Was it good for you?
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