I promise you things are not normal in Germany. I assume you’ve all given up on me, thinking Sawyer changed me in such a manner that I don’t have anything absurd to report on, and by absurd, I mean the normal, outlandish things that use to happen to me, not absurd in my new daily, why is my son shitting like a grown man, type way.
But seriously, he is and it is awful. How can a tiny body taking in only milk shit a pound of black clay like fireworks out every open centimeter not closed with a button, zipper or baby straight jacket contraption? I think he’s a fucking magician, which is why I sometimes call him Baby Blaine.
Anyway, on to the non-gross. In order to assure you it’s business as usual over here, let’s discuss an encounter I had this morning.
Mornings are pretty standard these days. Leave house, drop the Mr. off at work, drop The Destroyer off at daycare, park the car, carry 90 bags containing numerous pumps, tube top looking bras, snacks, piles of paper, stuffed animals, dirty tissues and baby ass cream into the office. Half that stuff is unneccessary for the office but somehow finds its way into my purse. I tried buying wine at the store this weekend and pulled out a half eaten cucumber using for teething and a block that had been torn to shreds by Bull. What the fuck. Life changes.
So this morning, I’m using five extra minutes of my day to stop and get gas before dropping off Sawyer and as required by law, I haul his chubby ass out of the back of the car and into the store, even though it will take me five seconds to pay for gas and he’s happily asleep in the car. Seriously, while I recognize in THEORY you don’t want anyone kidnapping your child/hitting your car and your child/other random awful things happening to your child left in a car, some rules of parenting are bullshit. At the very least, every establishment in life should just have a door person that stands there and keeps an eye on all the windows in case of baby or dog in car emergencies. Would save me and the world 90 million minutes dragging in carriers and diaper bags and strollers bigger than fucking smart cars.
So we’re safe and sound in the store and I’m trying to decide between a pack of tic tacs and a chocolate croissant when I hear a faint noise, a familiar hissing I get often, yet the sound grows in volume and gets closer and before I can even turn around, I know there is some miserable and judgy bitch waiting behind me to let it be known that she is not happy with something I’ve done. Well, I’m already fucking caffinated and I didn’t have my daily car fight with the Mr. and so I surely have some aggression to take out on a stranger and so I turn around with my eyebrows already raised to be clear that if there was going to be another hiss out of that stupid mouth, I’d be hissing in English right back at her.
“Yes?” I was just entertaining her. Eyebrows were fucking cap locked up like you wouldn’t believe.
Judgy German bitch, over 50, magenta bowl cut hair: More hissing, and waving her hand aggressively over Sawyer.
Now I was going to assume she had some judgement on his outfit or his demeanor and not that she was doing voodoo shit with her hands, but honestly, I don’t know.
“What?” Stated flatly, and then I gave her a fucking shoo yourself away motion. She was two seconds away from getting a swift slap to her wrist.
“Schuhe, schuhe.” She was pointing at his feet frantically. Sawyer wasn’t wearing shoes. He wasn’t wearing shoes not because it was a Monday. Not because he doesn’t have any. Not because I was lazy or running late. He wasn’t wearing shoes because I fucking hate shoes. The Mr. hates shoes. We all hate shoes. He kicks them off whenever he wears them and to be honest, there’s so fucking snow on the ground, which is the only qualifier in my family for wearing shoes.
“He doesn’t need shoes,” I started in.
“Yes! Kinder need shoes.” Oh, well fancy that, she knows herself some broken English and she’s full of worthless opinions.
“No. He doesn’t, so shut up.”
“Bitte?” She sounded breathless and horrified that I just told her to shut up. Also, I fucking hate that when Germans say What? They say, Please? Please nothing. Please explain yourself maybe. Please itself just sounds stupid.
“SHUUUUUUUUT UP. Jesus. You know Jesus? Jesus didn’t fucking wear any shoes and people loved him. Jesus NEVER wore shoes. So. SHUT UP. SHUT YOUR MOUTH.” I made sure to say SHUT UP really slowly, dragging out the words and staring her in the eye in a way that hopefully scared her into a heart attack. I also clarified and added “shut your mouth” in case this was one of those annoying cases where she would look up and expect to see something closed. Translating can be so tedious sometimes.
And then she just stared at me with her stupid mouth open, probably not understanding how I found a way to compare my shoeless child to Jesus. Or probably because she didn’t know what the hell I had said.
Either way, I won.