Because someday you will have kids of your own.
You will be in public with your kids, one carrying three naked baby dolls and a handful of goldfish she found in the bottom of her car seat. The other is wearing a pirate eye patch and snow boots in July. Neither will have had a bath in three days, and you're not sure when your four year old last changed his shirt.
And you, you who used to be single and free and put on makeup everyday, will realize that these little miniature people, they copy every thing you do. Every. Single. Thing. Even if you only did it once. Because their little minds don't have the 30+ years of experiences to hold, they remember all 2 years of their experiences with perfect clarity.
Then they sing about those experiences. ALL of them.
"Poopy!. POOP POOP POOOOOOOP. You go Poopy. I go Poopy. He goes Poopy (pointing at innocent bystander). And it's stiiiinnnnnkkkkk-yyyyyyy!" delivered with a flourish and a bow, of course.
They sing and talk and comment about absolutely every thing that is happening around them, from pointing out overweight people to what they had for breakfast three days ago to what we are buying at the store that moment.
Then you may understand. You may understand why I laughed when my girl made up a song about buying beer. (Because it's better than a song about bowel movements? Because it's a game we play to keep them interested at the store? "When you see apples, saaaay apples! When you see deodorant, saaaaay deodorant!") You may even remember me, my hair sticking out of a sloppy ponytail but the smile on my face genuine, letting her child be a silly little girl, singing about anything she sees. Because it is funny. It is cute. She's adorable, twirling around, arms flapping as if she is on a Broadway stage, not in the produce aisle.
You may even feel a little bit guilty. Or ashamed. For thinking - as some people without kids do - that YOU would do so much better. You would be different. Your kids would be cleaner, their lisp less apparent. Your kids would skip contentedly along like toddlers in a 1950's sitcom, being seen but not heard. I know this because that is how I felt, that is what I said.
Just like me, you would be wrong.
Some days you will do it better than me. Some days you won't. But it's not a contest. Life is not the Olympics, with one winner and the rest falling behind. We are all in this thing called life together.
But don't feel bad. Your gasp of horror, your dismay at the fact that my 2 1/2 year old knows what a beer is (and seriously?! What is wrong with knowing that?!) - I needed that as well. To remember that my happiness does not depend on a strangers view of my life, nor do I care what you think. I am happy, laughing along with my playful daughter, whether it is songs about dog poop or things we find in our teeth or, yes, Mommy buying beer the night before Thanksgiving. Thank you for reminding me that my hair may not be washed but my heart is very full. The trade off is absolutely worth it.
Someday, you smug single woman who gets to pee by herself and read not just sentences but entire books, you who shave your legs more often than I shower and who doesn't yet have the scars of childbirth on her body and heart, someday you will be here, where I am.
And I won't judge you. Promise.