You know how after a bottle of wine, you become Wonder Woman? Serious problems can be solved with a hug, you are braver than Moana, and hotter than Kendall. Basically, you are a blind moron.
These Wonder Woman Wine Goggles are also bestowed upon us in a more natural way when we have babies. Our kids are perfect. They do no wrong. They are beautiful and brilliant and even if they throw a plate of spaghetti at your head, you look at them with the kind of adoration normally reserved for glittery Jimmy Choos and Prada handbags. We tell ourselves, our families, our friends, every stranger at the playground, our hairstylist, our wine distributor (no? just me?), and the mailman all sorts of tall tales about these little angel babies because, well, aren’t they perfect?
She is such a smart little girl, she just has bad teachers. Your Little Cherub is 9 years old and watches Teletubbies on repeat. She calls peanut butter “baba.” Her best friend is an imaginary llama named Pete. Unless you have dreams of seeing your Sweet Princess in a Big Brother hot tub after graduation, it’s time to invest in a tutor.
I only have one kid, so it’s okay if I still make his sandwich/pick out his clothes/tie his shoes. I fall so deep into this category that the only thing capable of bailing me out is a positive pregnancy test. Since this is about as likely as Ryan Reynolds riding up to my front door on a unicorn, I will continue to tuck my baby in every night until his wife changes the locks.
Yes, he bites/kicks/hits, but it’s just a phase and he’s a sweet boy. No. Stop. You know that boss you had, who was a bully and manipulated his staff into doing questionable things? He was for sure a biter back in the day. Get thee to therapy now, before he runs for President.
She is a picky eater, but she will grow out of it. I am living proof that this is not true. I was fed a steady diet of pizza, cheese sandwiches, pasta, and chicken fingers due to my oh-so-sensitive toddler palate. Fast forward 30 years, and I’m still repulsed by yogurt, anything green (exception: frosting), and those weird seeds people put into juice. If I want to chew my juice, I will do a jello shot, thankyouverymuch.
Perhaps all the excuses are prep for the day your no-longer-a-baby needs bailed out of the drunk tank at the local police station. A piece of advice to get you through that day? Slap on your Wonder Woman goggles and pretend he’s a sample sale Prada.
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