Outsourcing Parenting
Last night after another homemade, thoroughly unsatisfying day, I fed a literally, half-baked meal to one of my children, while the other had a family meal with her father in the ‘87 Trecel, that limped towards the economical extracurricular activity; a bronze league game, our team would loose. The remainder of my evening involved sitting with my youngest, simultaneously relearning and teaching the physics of electricity, sorting, cleaning, resorting, folding, returning and retrieving x to the y powered piles of laundry, and bribing my son not to pursue a career in the arts.
I know it’s not cool to dis your family but after another grindingly cyclical day in parent-dice, between you and me, I’ve ruined them. I’ve tried hard to raise a terrific next generation but the pressure’s enormous and these two are wrecked.
Let me start again. I sit at my desk and google “Raise Baby Right”, then follow the links to “OutsourceParenting.com” …
Oh my. A wondrous new universe unfolds. I browse, tentatively at first, and then plunge. I order one supermodel egg, “click” and a soupcon of Nobel Prize winning sperm. “Click”. Forget DNA-roulette this time. But should I incubate the fetus? No, my uterus practically followed the last baby out. I’ll order the surrogate womb-slash-wet nurse and do it up right. And look, she comes with a coupon from childproofers–-“the professional safety installers”. Wow. Click “yes” for BootyCamp; “Potty train in a day!” and of course the professional shoppers at Carmin’sCloset will make sure she only gets “top quality European name-brand educational togs and toys”.
Enter child’s name here? Shoot. I don’t have one picked out yet. Maybell? Raury? Nope. It’s got to be right. It’s important to admit when you need help and ask for it. I’ll leave it blank until babynamewizard collates the perfect fit.
Look at this, I can even out souce her thumb sucking problem and Cycle-Serv, “with a one-on-one bicycle instructor, will set her free from her troublesome training wheels”. Hmmmm Am I missing a milestone there? Nope, they send photos. Good. Click.
Daycare, night care, Nanny for the in-betweens; of course, of course, of course.
Bliss, Celebration Squad for birthdays. Secret-Spy-Videographers to capture and edit coming-of-age and casual impromptu events. Click.
Education? That been outsourced forever, but should I go for boarding-school and summer camp? Or risk keeping her here with takeout dinners and tutors? Relax. If I start to rub off on her, there’s Harmony Behavioral Solutions and Etiquette Outreach a one-touch call away. Click
Slow down. Maybe I shouldn’t be out sourcing so much. I feel anxious.
That’s a normal reaction. A last minute irrationality-attack at loss of contact with my yet to be fertilized child; momentary melancholy over not being part of those tiny and giant steps. Like the big mother/daughter “talk” and the week long pick-a-university-road-trip. Sharing. Caring.
Get it together, Deb. Just pangs. Come on, repeat after me “They’ll do it better. They’ll do it better.” Right, Birds ‘n Bees by Betty and Ivy League Tours Unlimited will do right by the fruit-of-my…I mean by the fruit-of-their-looms.
“Everybody’s doing it.”
Right. Enter my visa number. “Don’t be clingy. Let her go.” CLICK.
In the age of the outsourcing-superstar mommy, I am the profoundly average.