Proud: Part 1
Our weekday morning routine includes Emmy watching some Sprout TV while I put on my makeup and Asian Grandma walks Romeo and Coco while Tofu lazes about in her igloo bed, putting on extra chihuahua pounds she doesn't need.
I overhear the lady on Sprout reading the birthday shout outs to all the toddler boys and girls who have parents who love them enough to send scrapbooked birthday cards with personal messages to a TV station in the hopes of having them read over the air.
She goes, "Happy 3rd Birthday to my little boy Taylor! I am so proud of you! Love, Mommy."
And luckily I have a steady hand or I would've smeared eyeliner all over my face. I mean who says they're "proud" of a 3 year old? Did your 3 year old paint the Sistine Chapel? Did he save a kitten from a burning trailer? Did the little tot resuscitate a senior citizen who nearly drowned?
I mean, we love you, happy birthday, you're a cute little bugger. All of that, I get. But what can you possibly have done anything as a three year old to warrant anyone being proud of you?
I went to work thinking little Taylor is going to grow up to be a loser. If his mom is going to blow her pride wad on him at age 3, he's going to have all sorts of hyped up esteem issues.
I said as much to my co-workers when I got to work, saying I couldn't believe someone told her 3 year old son she was proud of him. For what? Turning 3? They were like, "Watch out for Prego, she going cray cray again."
Well fast forward to the weekend. Egg. On. My. Face.
To Be Continued.