Parenting is Like Wearing Yourself Inside-out All the Time

I often try to come up with some kind of metaphor about parenting to give to my friends when they ask me what's going to change when they have kids. To be honest, people don't really ask that of me. It's implied in the befuddled looks on their faces. To ask that question of someone would be to assume that one is not adult or mature enough to face the reality of parenting. Being no expert, I probably shouldn't answer them. But everyone deserves a little fair warning, right? So as not to wreck expectations?

The metaphor du jour is: Parenting is like wearing yourself inside-out all the time. There was a Nickelodeon segment with a claymation boy who swung over the top of the bar on the swingset. At the apex, his skin flipped around and all of a sudden he was inside-out. Cool concept. I'm definitely telling the kids that that's what will happen to them if they swing too high.

Much of growing up is spent building up a skin, a profile, a facade, an ego. The architecture of self is already there, whether ingrained by our own upbringing or etched in our cells is up for discussion. This is not so bad as it sounds. A facade is great. It's something we create of ourselves for ourselves. The materials for our facade are all those things we like in other people and in ourselves that we cling to them--or rather attach them to us.

Today, I am getting over the flu. I'm wearing jeans that have gaping holes in the knees and paint from several projects, not one but two dirty shirts in layers, absolutely no makeup, and my crooked glasses. I'm not sure I would have ever gone out in public like this before. At least not without deciding it was a "cool" statement to make. But I had to go out, to the grocery store, with Jillian.

Taking a 2 year-old to the grocery store is an adventure. She cries. She wants a race car cart but she doesn't want to drive it. She doesn't want to ride in the basket. She's done drawing all over my shopping list, she's dropped the pen. She wants a cookie. She wants "The Incredibles" cheese nips with the extra MSG, so she puts them in the cart. She wants me to hold her cookie. She wants a balloon. She wants to get down. She runs away. A store manager brings her back. I shrug. Her balloon pops. She cries. She's covered in sticky frosting and tears, hair a mess, clothes ready for the bonfire. And it's only been half an hour. In all that time I had to get some grocery shopping done. And if you know me, you know I can't just grab things and get out. I have to use coupons, read ingredients, and think about a menu and budget for the week. It's part of my stay-at-home mom job.

I realize on this outing (and this is what every outing is like) that I have not even stopped to think about myself. Not what I look like. I probably smell. I have a ruddy nose. I must look like the flu virus walking. I am out of whack and my daughter is too. And everyone can see it.

Imagine how people would look at you if you were inside out. All your organs just glistening purple and pink and squishy for people to gawk at. That's how it feels to be a parent. You're embarrassed. Self-conscious and kid-conscious. Even though you know that they look the same way inside and there's nothing you can to do change it, you're embarrassed. People are grossed out. You try to tug a jacket to cover your intestines but, what can you say, there it is!

The metaphor holds for your emotions, too. Kids turn you inside-out. Before I had kids it was pretty easy to keep myself in check. I didn't cry at work, I never raised my voice at anyone. I thought the idea of spanking a child was horrendous. I thought people who gave in to their kids whining were spineless. If I needed more money, I worked more. If I needed time off, I took a day off.

Now; kids. Strike that, reverse it. I'm not saying I do all those things I never said I'd do. I'm very aware of what's going on. There is a temper inside of me I never knew. There is a control freak in me I've never met before. And the mama-bear inside me is so fiercely protective over her young that it scares me what I could do if someone harmed them.

And that's what I mean by inside-out. At the same time total disarray and yet complete thoroughness. These kids have unearthed every ounce of self from inside of me and pushed it to the surface, and this all kind of snuck up on me just today at the grocery store.