Six o’clock in the morning is really rough.
It’s not the best feeling in the world to know every morning you will get up at 6 a.m. regardless of the time you fall asleep. This is the life of a parent with a 2-year-old. In the past two years, the latest I’ve slept in has been 6:30 (three times), and it wasn’t even on any of those Mother’s days or birthdays. It was because he slept in until 6:30.
What makes it worse is sometimes it’s 5:30 a.m. There are things one does–things one is not proud of–to try to sleep an extra five to 10 minutes.
Maybe you do that thing where you pretend you do not actually hear your child crying. That is impossible. It’s like his cry is directly connected to my central nervous system. I say my because my husband could sleep through me jumping on his head with a pogo stick.
Or you get the kid, throw him into your bed and turn on the TV after six requests of “Watch show? Watch show? Watch show?”
The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends no television for children under the age of two. This is because they are doctors who can afford to have someone else watch their children, and have never played two solid hours of “What’s that?”
I don’t necessarily think it’s a bad thing that my infant son would rip himself away from my breast whenever the theme for It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia kicked in so he could watch the opening credits. It is classical muzak after all.
I only wish that would placate him now. Because now, what he likes to watch at 6 a.m. is Dora the Explorer.
Ah, Dora…How do I describe your voice? Think of a beginning violinist scraping his unrosined bow across a violin with a shrieking cat strapped to it. Think of someone inserting a needle directly into your left eardrum while someone crashes cymbals against your right. Think of a cheerleader whose mouth is actually a megaphone screaming directions while 1,000 bagpipes play and 1,000 dentists drill into a giant mouth made out of aluminum.
And that does not even come close to Dora’s voice.
“My voice has broken the sound barrier!”
Dora is always excited and always going on adventures and always needs your help and always wants you to shriek along with her. It’s glorious. Especially at 6 a.m.
She drags along a monkey in red boots, and she talks to her backpack, and can catch stars, and I fucking hate her more than I have ever hated any cartoon in my life and that includes Scrappy Doo who is an unbelievable monstrosity.
There is a fox named Swiper, and guess what he does?
Swiper, can you swipe Dora’s vocal box? Thanks!
Dora becomes very agitated whenever Swiper is around and begins to wail with the intensity of 13,000 ambulance sirens that we must stop Swiper. “SAY SWIPER NO SWIPING” she bellows over and over again while I begin to fantasize that I’m chained to some random restroom in Saw 17.
Dora is very big on audience participation and what you think was the best part of the adventure. At the end of the task, she scream/sings the “We did it” song and then asks what your favorite part was.
My favorite part was when Dora was not speaking, that .001 second of the show.
“Me too!!!!!!” she screams back. Then she shrieks and shrieks and shrieks some more until I lose all feeling in my face. And then we have another episode at 6:30.
And this is likely what I will wake up to tomorrow. And the next 300 or so tomorrows.
I have just written a check to the American Academy of Pediatrics. Good work, guys.