Flair for the Dramatic

I don’t know if you’ve gathered this or not yet, but I can have a bit of a flair for the dramatic.

Sometimes, when things change, I can be all ZOMGoodness!, I’M DYING!

Right.

Anyhoo.

This pretty much carries over into every aspect of my life. I can’t figure out if I am dramatic because it adds a certain degree of spiciness to life, or if I am somehow hardwired to catastrophize every situation.

I will let you know once I figure this trash out.

Back to the subject at hand.

I shared the other day that we are adopting (Or rather, opening ourselves up to adoption, and the timing will be left up to the Lord).

Anyway.

As time creeps onward, my dramatic self rears its head.

My mind starts to go crazy:

“What if I never get another moment alone to myself?”

“What if I can’t ever go out to eat again?”

“What if I can’t ever buy myself something again?”

So…I have been justifying doing crazy actions (Does this surprise you? It should not.)

For example:

I bought an entire bag of Cadbury mini easter eggs and ate them by myself over the course of two days. Why? I figured I would never be able to eat something alone ever again. So, classically, I went overboard and ate them all. This makes sense to a rational person, I am sure.

I bought myself two new pairs of pants. Why? I just knew I could never buy myself clothes again because I would buy all the clothes for the kids (This also is rational. Clearly.)

I stayed up until 2:00am. Why? I knew I would have to go to bed early with the kids, so my rebellious self rose up inside me and told me stay up. Did I regret this decision? Yes. I was a zombie the next day at work. And a grouch, too.

Now, while I recognize that I will have to do some cut-backs on my spending, it is not as melodramatic as my crazy brain convinces me it will be.

However, apparently, my husband has caught the same “Oh-my-gosh-we’re-going-to-be-parents-soon” bug too, because he just came home with matching iPhones for us. He said it was necessary as we wouldn’t be able to make any more big purchases after this time.

So somehow I am going to have to reign both of us in. But until I figure out how to do that, I will be here. With my Cadbury eggs. Hoarding them to myself. While calling someone on my new iPhone.

Breastfeeding and Such

Do you all remember me talking about J, the kid I babysit? If not, you can read about it here.

So last night I am sitting with him eating dinner. Annnd, as most of our conversations go, they are normally random and filled with funny times.

Here is a great example:

J: “Man! My teeth are like knives! Look at them cut through this noodle! Watch! BAM! Did you see me cut through that? Just like a knife.”

Yes, J. That is so true.

“Ok, well are your teeth like knives?”

Yes, they are.

“Well are all people’s teeth like knives?”

Well, our teeth were made to be able to chew things so that food is more easily digested, so yes, all people’s teeth are like knives.

“Oh.” (Thinking.) “Well, babies don’t have teeth.”

Yes, that’s because they don’t need them. They just need to be able to drink milk from their moms.

“What do you mean?”

I mean they don’t have to chew because they just have to be able to drink milk from their moms.

“Like, the baby drinks milk from the mom’s tummy?”

(Me thinking: oh, Lord. He doesn’t know about breastfeeding. How am I going to
explain this to a 9 year old who is not my own???)

Umm…Not exactly. The baby drinks from the mom’s chest.

“Like up here?” (Pointing to his neck.)

No…a little lower.

“Oh, so right here?” (Pointing to the correct region)

Yes.

“So, does the mom have tons of holes all over her so that the baby can just lay there and drink while it pours out?”

(Me: Cracking UP!...Meanwhile thinking: “I do NOT want to talk to him about women's nipples. Are his parents comfortable with this conversation? Oh crap, I’m stuck…”

No….Just two holes, really.

“Oh.”

He finally drops the conversation after I explain that when a baby eats from his mom, it is called breastfeeding.

However, then the next conversation starts. Here we go again.

“So, Miss Elizabeth, are you having a baby?” (I have no idea why this kid is obsessed with me having a baby?!)

Not right now, J.

“Well how many kids are you going to have?”

I’m not sure. But I do know that when Brandon and I have kids, we want to at least adopt one too.

“Really? Like, from Haiti?”

Maybe from Haiti. Maybe from the United States. Maybe from anywhere in the world. Brandon and I haven’t really thought much about where we will adopt from.

“Well, when you adopt, I think you should adopt me.”

(I am thinking: “ok what??? This kid has a great life with parents he loves deeply. What is going on? I soon get my answer….”)

J, you don’t really want to be adopted by me, do you?

“Well, let’s discuss about the pros and cons.”

(I am thinking: What the heck, kid? Who, at 9 years of age, discusses pros and cons of something???)

(Laughing) Ok, J. Let’s talk about the pros and cons.

“Ok, Pro: I would get to hang out with your dogs all the time.

Ok. Good…What else?

Con: I would have to move away from all my friends.

Another Con: I would have to change schools.

Pro: ummm….Pro:…. Ok, another Con: I would have to move away from my parents

Con: I would be sad.

So basically what you’re saying is, you don’t really want to be adopted by me at all, you just want to hang out with my dogs.

Yep. I think that’s it.

Haha, Ok J, whatever you say kid.

And this is the greatness called: Babysitting a curious 9 year old little boy.

Can you please make a boy?

So, while I am finishing up my masters, I babysit part time 3 nights a week.

The boy I babysit is 9 years old, and probably one of the sweetest and funniest kids ever.
Every time I leave, I think about how great it is that I get to hang out with one of the coolest people ever and get paid for it.

And he’s just a kid.

Just tonight, we were cooking dinner together, and randomly he asks me: “Miss Elizabeth, can you make a boy please?”

Excuse me?

“Can you make a boy, please?”

You mean, when I decide to have children, can I have a boy?

“Yea!”

Well, J, I know that when Brandon and I have kids, we can’t really control what gender it is.

“I know, but there aren’t any boys in my family and I REALLY want a boy to play with…so I was thinking that you could just make a boy!”

If only it were that easy…

I tell you what. That was one of the sweetest things I've ever heard. Not only was he saying that he wanted me to be around for a long time (long enough that he could play with my child!), but that I was, in a way, part of who he saw as his family.

‘But he’s just a kid!’ some might think. Could he really be thinking or feeling all of those things?

This is where I disagree with people who think kids are ‘just kids.’

Have you ever really sat down and considered the once popular saying :”Kids are to be seen, not heard.”

Like WORST saying EVER.

Are we for real as a society?

Kids will one day grow into adults (obviously). AND, kids feel much more than many individuals even realize. (Ever watched or read about play therapy? If not, it would convince you otherwise). If we don’t allow them expression as children, how will they learn that their thoughts are valuable and that they have immense worth as a person??

I think the reason why J felt so comfortable asking me to ‘make a boy’ was because I have allowed him the free expression that he needs. I have always encouraged openness and honesty with me, and applaud him when he chooses to speak his opinions.

This also leads to some REALLY interesting conversations.

Prime example: He has lately been putting his hands down his pants. Both his parents, as well as I, told him that he needed not to do that in public.

So, about a week later, I remark to him that he has been doing such a good job with keeping his hands out of his pants.

His response to me?

“Yea, well, my doctor gave me a cream to rub on my weiny. I think I kept wanting to touch it all the time because my weiny kept getting sticky. But now that I have the cream? It feels weird to touch it, so I don’t like to anymore.”

Seriously kid? WAY too much info.

I couldn’t help but crack up.

He was clueless as to why Miss Elizabeth was laughing so freaking hard.

However, even considering conversations like these, I wouldn’t give up the opportunities I have had to allow him to be so open and honest with me. About anything.

Even if it means he talks about his sticky weiny and weird feeling lotion.

Or even asks me to please ‘make a boy’ for him.