‘I love my kid, but I didn’t sign up for this’

WHEN you become a parent, there are certain things you pretend to enjoy. But let’s be honest, we’d rather be watching Netflix than another bloody school concert.

School Spectacular is amazing, the first time you watch it. But when you have to sit through every performance (including the dress rehearsal)? Picture: Brendan Francis

THERE are certain things you seem to develop upon giving birth. Surprising things. Like not really being so repulsed by the stench of that tiny person’s bodily functions, or, once you’ve got the hang of it, being happy to flop your boob out in a crowded cafe to feed said baby. And strangely I’ve noticed now that my kid is older, the willingness to eat her discarded, half chewed scraps, just to avoid waste.

But what giving birth didn’t do is instil in me a tolerance for sitting through endless Jazz Ballet concerts, or swimming lessons, or tennis awards afternoons or kids parties or piano recitals, without an inner monologue that could almost have me arrested.

Other parents hold their phones up to record every second with what seems like an imbecile joy. I do too, but at the risk of sounding heartless, I’m faking it, and it’s painful. Pretending I’m enjoying these precious moments is like laughing through a root canal — I know it’s important, but the only thing I can say is thank God for a Parent Association run bar.

The pain began when the birthday party invitations started. Saturday afternoons spent in an excruciatingly loud play centre, making small talk with parents I don’t know, about holidays they’ve had and kinder working bees I haven’t gone to, made me want to fake my own death.

Then, as she grew and became interested in activities beyond chasing the cat’s tail, I’ve been torn between encouragement and deathly boredom. It’s not that I don’t want her to learn to swim. But really it’s only the fear of her drowning at schoolies because she can barely manage a dog paddle that keeps me sitting poolside in the sweltering humidity, grinding my teeth into a gritted smile.

And while I love that my baby has expressed an interest in music, here’s a little feedback for the piano school. When planning your end of year recital, could maybe half of the 23 beginners learn a different song to Merrily We Roll Along? Because by the 11th version, I’m close to Merrily losing my mind.

Dance concerts are their own kind of hell. Absolutely, little girls in tutus are ADORABLE, and sure, a stage full of 6-year-olds dressed as pirates, bouncing up and down to Six Months in a Leaky Boat is pretty entertaining. But I don’t want my little one dolled up in a Beyonce black leotard and fishnets, wiggling her bum at me as she announces to the audience “if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it.” At her age she shoulda put a sensible pair of leggings on it.

Obviously, because it’s important to her that I’m there, it becomes important to me, and I’m not saying I’m not proud of my sweet baby. I’m just missing something in my parental skill set, and I know I’m not alone. I saw the look on the Dad’s face standing next to me at the End of Term Tennis Awards when he realised his kid was going to be last called up, the sausage sizzle had run out, and the beers were warm. He just wanted to be at home, celebrating his kid’s achievements, in front of the cricket.

I know it’s the ordinary moments that make a lifetime of magic, and because I have diligently sat through endless spectator hours, I’ve witnessed some really beautiful moments worth celebrating. Like when my kid was the first to run off to get an ice pack for the girl at tennis who got whacked in the head with a racquet. That innate kindness makes me more proud than any trophy. As does her natural enthusiasm, which, despite her being a dead weight in the water, means she dives in that pool every week as though she’s heading for Olympic glory and not the belly whacker she always hits the water with.

But forgive me for saying what I know every parent has thought at least once — and that is, “I love my kid, but I didn’t know I was signing up for this”. And even as I pay for another Term of whatever my daughter’s heart desires, knowing that is the end of any spare time I had for myself, a part of me hopes she does me a favour and ends up an introverted couch-dwelling underachiever. I’m thinking of introducing her to video games to increase the chances.

Follow Jo Stanley on Twitter and Facebook.