Besides the whole pregnancy, labor, and time suck/money suck attributes of the sacrifices of parenthood, there are those special moments that come up that make you really understand what a slave you are to your child. For me, you would think this was earlier this week when kiddo thrust her fork out at me and said, “Give me all your money.”
But no. The real moment was when last week we decided to explore a local place called “PlaydatePDX.” It’s a giant indoor playground, perfect for rainy Portland days. The husband and I had heard good things, were bored and slightly frightened of being alone in the house all day with our super-active kid, so decided to give it a whirl.
At the end of the 15 minute drive to get there, kiddo is asleep. So, after much debate and waiting in the car, we decide to head home.
Drive home. Almost there. Kid wakes up and asks “Are we almost to the playground?” In a move that is more like something I would think of, my husband says “Let’s just tell her it’s closed.” But like any good mother, I couldn’t handle the guilt.
We turn around, drive the 15 minutes again and actually PAY MONEY to enter what is the equivalent of a war zone with very tiny screaming soldiers running amongst all the bodily fluids one can imagine, while shoeless. There is a cafe but there are literally no open seats in this joint, so I have to stand and hover for a spot like it’s the goddamned hottest restaurant in town. Did I mention that we had to pay money for this? The only redeeming factor about this place is they sell beer and wine–it was my only defense of this shit fest of a place that I drove to twice because I can’t bear to see a look of disappointment on my daughter’s face.
When you know you are getting hosed, but you do it anyway, that is sacrifice.