As I pulled my 4-year-old son along on his scooter, rain hammering my face, my scarf wrapped around him, my lovely new (non-bloody-waterproof) coat drenched through and my husband running ahead with our screaming 2-year-old in his arms, one thought kept running through my head….
Why. The. F. Did. We. Go. To. See. Santa. In. The. Rain!!!
And then it started to hail!!!
You are probably thinking, those poor people, they were out on a lovely family outing and then it suddenly, unexpectedly, without warning started to rain. Nope!
There were dark clouds when we left our lovely warm house and decided to walk/scoot to the local Santa Scoot event. And yet we still decided to go.
It started to drizzle 5 minutes into our journey, when we could have easily turned around and gone home. And yet we still decided to go.
It was hammering it down when we got to the cafe at the start, where we could have waited for the rain to stop/slow down. And yet we STILL decided to go.
And it rained hard and non-bloody-stop the 10 minute scoot to meet Santa. Chucked it down while the children shivered and chatted to the big man, ate a complimentary cake in the rain and I died a little bit inside.
And it only went and hailed as we ran, cried, pulled along scooters and sprinted with toddlers the (what felt like) 6 hours it took to get back to the nice, warm cafe. Where we sat dripping, defeated but also laughing at our fucking parental madness for about 3 hours.
This whole saga just got me thinking. Why the hell do, we as parents, do this shit to ourselves? Don’t get me wrong, this was a lovely local event and would have been fantastic had it not been the most amount of rainfall we had revived in 150 years (or that’s how it felt). But why did we feel we had to still do it, even in the terrible weather.
And it wasn’t just us. My sister came along too with her 10-week-old and 3-year old. And other parents were there, battling the weather alongside us for that magical family moment.
Do we grow another part of our brain when we have children, that leads us to believe doing activities that no one really enjoys/takes part in/completes despite hours of prep, thousands of pounds or just sheer hard work, is a good idea?
Or maybe the common sense part of our brain simply shrinks during labour?
I have no idea. But all I know is I will do this kind of shit again. And so will other parents. And at the end we will (again) ask ourselves – why the fuck did we bother???
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