BraceLand

I’ve just spent the last 48 hours watching waaayy more children’s television than I ever wanted to watch. Dora the Exlporer, Go Diego Go, Little Bill, Pinky Dinky Doo, The Backyardigans, you name it. All of these shows seem to be 100 times more advanced than the stuff I watched as a kid (Inspector Gadget, Sesame Street, Square One). Or maybe it’s just that I don’t have the right perspective anymore.

Anyway, two of these shows are particularly whacked out. I watch them and think, “what in God’s name must these writers be on to come up with this shit?” The first one is Spongebob Squarepants. Everyone knows him. There was even a (utterly fantastic) essay on Spongebob in the Atlantic a couple months ago.

The other one, which you probably haven’t heard of, is called Yo Gabba Gabba. This show is positively psychotropic: the host, a black guy named DJ Lance Rock, is dressed in orange fur and white sunglasses; the dancing live-action characters are “Muno (the red cyclops), Foofa (the pink flower bubble), Brobee (a little green monster), Toodee (the blue cat-dragon) and Plex (the magic yellow robot)”–no word yet on which of them is gay; in addition,”among the varied animation sequences during the show is Super Martian Robot Girl, designed by indie cartoonists Evan Dorkin and Sarah Dyer.”

In other words, stuff you’d expect some hipster stoners to be watching on a random Tuesday at 2:14AM. Well, my two-year old niece (despite the afro, not really a hipster) happens to be OBSESSED with it. I’m not really sure what to make of this other than that after 3 hours of constant running around I’m more than happy that someone other than me can hold her undivided attention for a few minutes so I can brush my teeth and grab some coffee. There’s another part of me, the part that wrote this post on Geoffrey Canada’s Children’s Zone, that feels really bad about plopping an impressionable mind in front of a channel that claims to be “preschool on television.” But, if there’s anything I’ve learned this weekend, it’s that it’s really easy to rail against this stuff when you don’t have kids (or a nanny), and spending 12 uninterrupted hours with a toddler requires some breaks if you’re not to become in need of psychotropic drugs yourself. I remember one horrifying epiphany when I was babysitting over Christmas. I looked at the clock, realized I’d been up for the equivalent of an entire work day with an 18-month old without any adult conversation, and it wasn’t even lunch time yet. It dawned on me: some people do this every. single. day (even weekends!), and sometimes they do it WITH MORE THAN ONE KID!!! It was almost enough to send me veering into a ditch. As much as I love my niece, the only thing that keeps me sane on these trips is that I know I can go home. I’m always so much more appreciative of my own life when I leave here.

Consequently, I have a weird mixture of awe, respect and pity for my sister. There’s a weird paradox to being a mom: either you work during the day and are utterly exhausted, guilty for not spending time with your kid, guilty for not doing enough housework, but able to have conversations with adults every day, or you’re a stay-at-home mom, able to take your time getting ready in the morning but spending 75% of your time conversating with people whose brains are only 25% developed.

If I didn’t have enough ambivalence about marriage, there’s this whole kid thing to throw on top of things. If it’s not clear to anyone who hasn’t been a parent before, let me tell you as someone who’s traveled over to the dark side and lived to tell about it: it’s not fun, be ready to give up your life, sleep, and brain. For the life of me, I’m not sure why people do this twice. On the other hand, there are times when Grace says my name (she calls me “Cogky”) that absolutely melts me, and I think “maybe I could do this one day.” Well, we’ll see.