Every parent has their breaking point. The point at which I’VE HAD ENOUGH. Enough whining, enough tantrums, enough stuff going wrong.
When you have a kid AND a cat, you reach that point a little quicker. Or at least when you have a kid and OUR cat, who is basically equivalent to having another kid.
Belle. Our first child.
(We liken her to a 21-year-old who is home visiting from college. Eating all of our food. Hungover. Sleeping in until 11 a.m. She’s old enough to know better. You try to be patient, cuz she’s your kid and you love her, but you’re like “Dude, get. a. job.“)
She has anxiety issues. I wish I were kidding, but I am not. We have to try to keep our home stress-free or she starts running around and puking everywhere. Wellllllll, I challenge you to maintain a stress-free home when your 9-month-old is sick every 67 seconds. We haven’t mastered that level of zen yet.
Yesterday morning, I heard the telltale “rrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr” from the living room and ran out in time to watch her puke up every bite of breakfast she’d eaten over the past hour. And then she walked a step and puked some more. And then walked four more steps and puked some more.
I cleaned up and petted her and assured her that everything is ok and not to be stressed out and that I hoped she would feel better soon. But then I had to go to work. Cuz, you know, you can take a sick day for your kid, but your co-workers think a little less of you when you take off cuz your anxious cat needs your calming presence all day.
Anyway, I’m talking about Parental Wild Eyes. Mike achieved that look yesterday.
It just so happened that yesterday afternoon was Ryan’s 9-month check-up, which Mike volunteered to handle. Only Ryan wasn’t all about the idea of going to the doctor, on account of he hates the nurse with the fire of a thousands suns cuz she sticks needles in him and chips stuff out of his ears and he is NOT ok with that.
So as soon as he realized what room he was headed into, he voiced his displeasure. And evidently, he proceeded to continue voicing that displeasure throughout the entire appointment, all the way out the office, and then all the way home.
When I got home, Mike described it all in great detail, and I sympathized and was all “ugh, that sucks, I know that’s hard.” And then, in an effort to make him feel as though I could relate to the craziness, I told him about all the cat puke I’d cleaned up several hours earlier.
And that’s when it happened. Parental Wild Eyes.
He leapt from the couch, pointing at Belle and bellowing “OH, THIS CAT. YES, THIS CAT PUKED AND POOPED ALL.OVER.THE.CONDO.” And then – with wide eyes and sweeping arm gestures – he described, in great detail that I will spare you, the complete decimation of our home, which he discovered only after he shut a whining Ryan in the nursery upon arrival so that he could catch his breath and get away from the screaming for a moment.
It was clear from his story that he was not exactly a calming influence on our anxiety-ridden, high-maintenance cat. Something about a few choice words and a strong suggestion that she head outside to the back patio.
Parental Wild Eyes: Sometimes they sneak up on you.