The 30 Something-Year-Old’s Constant Plight!
As a 30 something year old married woman I often get the age-old irritating question that I am sure plague many of you,
“so, when are you having kids of your own?”
Which is cool and all for those that want them but for me? I enjoy not pushing something the size of a large wet St. Bernard through something the size of a keyhole only to have my tatas drag on the ground every morning (kudos to all y’all mamas out there though – y’all are such MVP’s!!!)
But the statement that people should be echoing (because let’s be honest, I use that as a vehicle to talk about the adorable land of misfits) is, “you are a mom, just not in the traditional sense” which makes sense– we’re the land of misfits’ dudes!
Nothing (and I mean absolutely nothing) we will say or do will ever be considered or filed away as “traditional”.
But a caregiver is a caregiver, right?
Whether you are a “mom” to a child, an animal that you have forged a deep emotional bond with, a friend, the elderly – anyone that you provide loving, compassionate care for, you are a “parent” in one form or another.
The next time someone approaches you in that sad sympathetic look with the tone of dismay over how they could never (cue the pearl clutching here) have an animal that is “special needs” and they simply do not know how we do it every day! Ask them why they feel that way and explain maybe you feel the same way about their situations. Do we not worry about our handicapable pets just like new parents fussing over their new baby?
Regardless of the situation, anytime you dedicate your heart to something as pure as an animal (handicapable or otherwise) or a baby or loved one, you are assuming the care, love, and responsibility for that helpless, defenseless being.
So no, I am not a mother in the traditional sense but what fun would that be in the land of misfits where we are all just a little out of the ordinary here?
Yet just like many of you I can say I am a nurturing caregiver (and a “parent”) here’s why:
- I have and will continue to handle more amounts of fecal matter than I had originally anticipated as a child (in case you were wondering, child me had that number at a hard zero – boy was I wrong). I wipe more ass than toilet paper at this point and my regular purchase of non-scented baby wipes has the local store concerned and puzzled.
- Everyone gets put to bed at nighttime – Maxwell is usually first to go: I help him use the facilities, we give him a little nighttime snack and then we brush his teeth, turn on his white noise machine (yes we play it and he loves the outdoor noises) and tuck him in his crib (a real baby crib) with his lamby he has had since a baby and has seen far better days. Followed by Bifford and Bart who also both get a little snack of canned food before bedtime before putting them to put with their brother Max in the “boys’ room” (or our spare room that has been commandeered by the handipets).
- On any given night you can hear crying, throwing up, fighting and more – just like kids can do (and yes there have been many a sleepless night up with a restless, crying or sick handipet).
So where is the disconnect?
A mother who cares for a newborn up to their elbows in diapers and crying is a “mom”, but I am up to my eyeballs in poop many nights up all night crying because I was tired and frustrated, but felt guilty for being so upset because just like babies the handipets do not understand.
One of the major differences is that with “traditional” mothers eventually their children grow up, grow independent and off on their own but as we all know (especially here at the adorable land of misfits) is that our babies never “grow up”, Maxwell will forever need assistance using the bathroom, he will always need me to wipe his booty, help in and out of his wheelchair and require constant attention.
Bifford will still cry when he falls (he is a bottle kitten after all) and need the “danglers” clipped from his long hair, Bart will still need me to help him wipe the half inch long dangling boogers from his nose.
They are each adorable, affectionate, disgusting in their own individual ways and I often describe them to people as my “adorable dumpster fires” at home but I would not change a thing because the things that make them adorable and gross are the qualities that make them who they are, make them unique and keeps our lives here interesting and entertaining.
Because the “misfits” are the patchwork to a vibrant and beautiful life, right? Or how about the age old saying “variety is the spice of life”, that definitely applies to being a handicapable pet parent.
Regardless of if were parents to kids, animals (handicapable or otherwise!), friends or the elderly we are all “moms” and “dads” in our own uniquely misfit way and its worthy of commendation and respect!!