Awkward Mom vs. Middle School

Now, don't you all worry. There is no love child that we failed to tell you about. Awkward Mom is just worrying about the ones who aren't even in Kindergarten yet. You know, just her normal insanity.

It isn't that I don't think they can handle middle school. OK, that is a lie. I think that Super Toddler can. Honestly, I have half a mind to pick up some college applications for him. No, he can't read yet. What a strange question! Everyone knows that school isn't really about learning academics; school is about learning how to function in a group of people that you don't necessarily like. It prepares you for life that way. School is about learning some spelling, a little subtraction, and massive survival skills, and middle school is like school's boot camp. Now, Super Toddler, with his teflon ego, easy smile, and lightening-fast right hook, is off my worry list. That child was born ready to go to school:

Hey Dudes, am I in the right place to rush Phi Kappa Chi?
 

Super Preschooler does keep me up at night sometimes, worrying about his sensitive ways and significant lack of hand/eye coordination. Signing him up for Kindergarten in the fall about gave me palpatations, but I was brave and did it. He has more than proven himself in preschool; he can write his name. He has some rudimentary understanding of the days of the week. He can identify Michigan on a map. His sharing skills are off the charts, unless you want a particular Cinderella dress-up dress he likes. But since his left uppercut is getting there, this is not usually a problem. I mean, it is not Super Toddler's right hook, but it is adequate. His social skills are good and his self-defense is workable. I have high hopes that the drama geeks are gonna find him early and all will be well. That all will be strange interpretive dances to Les Miz for a couple years goes without saying, but I have a BFA and thus a fairly high show-tune tolerance. I can handle it. Now, if it carries on into high school, I may need to invest in some ear plugs and some Valium. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Mom! I have figured out my Halloween costume this year. I am gonna need a toga unless you think the neighbors are cool with a little nudity.
 

He'll be fine. Fabulous, but fine. No, my worry is decidedly sexist today. My worry is this one:

No, I have no excuse for the 4 diapers that she has in there.
 

Once upon a time, I was a middle school girl. It didn't end happily ever after. That isn't even understating it. To understate it would be to say that I was unpopular. I was beyond unpopular. I had 1 friend. Now, she was an amazing friend, so there was little need for more. My friend, Marvelous Mom, who is still my friend to this day, would bravely sit with me at our own little lunch table every day for about 3 years. Of course, she was going by Marvelous Pre-teen at the time and she was (and still is) the definition of a friend. She barely pointed out my awkwardness and seemed to love me in spite of it. She was funny and kind and liked to watch MTV with me, sprawled on my living room floor. She routinely defended me against my nemesis, Perfect Pre-teen, and even got me invited to Perfect Pre-teen's Christmas party. That Perfect Pre-teen made a point to not give me a gift and threw away the one I gave her wasn't the point. Marvelous Pre-teen was a true friend, through and through. They just don't make many friends like that.

She is in pretty much every middle school memory I have. We walked to school together with my brother, who liked to sing the Bumble Bee Tuna Jingle for our amusement. (Do NOT click on that unless you are prepared to have it in your head all year.) I was with her the day she pierced her ears herself in the kitchen with a tack and a potato. She was the Morticia to my Gomez when we went as the Addams family on Halloween 1990. We did our science fair project together and got a ribbon for our sophisticated analysis of bubble solutions. We ate together. Oh, we ate together. Legendary meals, but I think the blue-frosted cake was my favorite. I still have some notes that we illicitly passed during class; all 8th grade, her desk was one behind and one over, in perfect note-passing position. They are full of jokes and comfort and nasty comments about Perfect Pre-teen's new haircut. I would post a picture of us, circa early 90s, but it was circa early 90s and that would just be mean to all involved, especially those viewing such a picture. Picture or no, she is a treasure and she got me through that incredibly rough time in my life.
 

Incredibly rough time in any girl's life. And I have no guarantees that Super Baby is gonna find a marvelous friend. Now, Super Baby is amazing. There is no disputing that. But society is not always that good at spotting amazing. The fact that Jersey Shore existed at all is proof to my point. Super Baby is my daughter. Awkward Dad's genes are strong, but nothing short of a miracle is gonna get her to adulthood with no awkwardness at all. Plus, making it though years 9-17 without an awkward spell is hard enough for the normal ones; can you imagine what poor Super Baby has going against her? Sometimes I watch her toddle across the room with her John Wayne gait; her enormous belly sticking out, hair flying away in 18 directions, one hand deep in her left cheek, working on some molars, the other one clutching a tampon that she stole from my bathroom, and I sigh. I find her perfection, but I am awkward; what do I know?
 

Next to other children, she is a hilarious mess. We were in the church nursery on Sunday and Phenomenal Baby was there. Phenomenal Baby is so graceful that she floats. So, she is floating along, and here comes Super Baby; lumbering after her, round as the apple she is clutching and chewing, with cheeks red and shiny from drool. Even as she enthusiastically eats, her goofy grin is somehow beaming through and around her prize. And I sigh. Because she looks like the fat friend. You can glare at me all you want through the internet, but that is what she looks like. I should know; I was one.
 

Super Baby is passive and kind. She shares toys at age 1, which is next to unheard of. She laughs if Super Preschooler yells at her and she smiles when Super Toddler kicks her. She goes to sleep when we tell her to and is often forgotten at the door when we are packing the van in the morning. Yes, she has adorable cheeks that bloom red in cold or heat, but sadly, she also has a nose that blooms rummy red; combine that with her weaving walk and aimless smile, and she kinda looks drunk most of the time. Her impact on our household routine has been so slight that sometimes I forget I have three of them to haul around. But her impact on my heart has been immense.
 

Having a daughter is different. I want to say that it isn't. I want to be all modern and equatable and bra-burny and say that there is no difference between boy children and girl children. And mostly, I can say that there is no difference. Well, no difference based on gender; all children are delightfully different in interest, temperament, and appearance. The difference that I am talking about is with me. I have never been a boy; middle school or otherwise. I have natural worries about my sons fitting in, making friends, doing well academically, all of it. These are emotional, yes, but there is research behind them. Reading like one book and talking to Awkward Dad, but still, this research creates an intellectualizing that gives me distance and perspective. There is none of that with my daughter; my worries about Super Baby are based on actually living it. My worries about her are strong and visceral. There is no intellectualizing about it; I want to grab her to me and head for the hills. I want to banish all other girls, ages 9 to 17, from our house. I know what they are like, I have been a girl. That I have grown into a woman is merely a case of dumb luck; I have no idea how I got here in one piece. It is a battlefield out there, Readers. You can tell me that times have changed. You can tell me that things are different now. You can tell me whatever you want (please tell me you have something to eat over there), but I still have all those memories. Those painful, uncomfortable, awkward memories.

 

Now, before you start thinking that I spend all day moping about how Perfect Pre-teen done me wrong, relax. I am 35 now and, although it took way more of my 20s than I would like to admit, I am quite comfortable with awkward me and all the actions that it took to get me here. Even the bad, uncomfortable ones. I know that those early middle school experiences helped me grow as a person. I know that they gave me an empathy and compassion for other awkward folks that nothing else would have. I know that they honed my sass and wit. I know that they helped me identity as a nerd girl before it was all cool and hipster-like. I know that they were good for me. Great. Fine. Good for me. Not good for that helpless angel baby that clings to my leg and looks up at me with such trust and love. I can't send her into the battlefield, Readers. I just can't. I don't care how good it will be for her in the long run. Look at her:

 

Maybe you could send this princess into the battlefield of judgment, self-doubt, and self-esteem horror that middle school can be, but I can't. I just can't.
 

And I don't have to. At least, not for many more years. That is what Awesome Mom told me today when I went crying to her with all my woes. She said, with all the wisdom of one who is awesome, "there is a reason that they start out as babies. You grow with them, you learn how to parent them as they go. You don't have to know all of it today." Which is good because I know like 1% of parenting in general. I have a few years to catch up. Whew, well, that is a relief. OK, what's next on my worry list? Ah, potty training......
  

That Awkward Mom is gonna spend this reprieve eating chocolate and watching Netflix only to freak out all over again the day Super Baby starts school isn't the point. The point is that there are a million other things to worry about right now. Wait......how is that better?! Guess we better get back over to Awesome Mom's house to some more words of wisdom!

 

Psst! Super Baby, that offer to head for the hills stands. Just say the word and we'll make a run for it!