Nina In New York: This Is How A Toddler Watches The Super Bowl
A lighthearted look at news, events, culture and everyday life in New York. The opinions expressed are solely those of the writer.
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By Nina Pajak
During the first half of last night's Super Bowl, Nationwide insurance ran an ad in which an adorable little boy talked about how he can't ever experience the myriad joys life holds because he died from a horrific household accident which his horrible, horrible, stupid parents could have prevented. So, like, buy insurance?
Thankfully I missed this potshot at my parental mental health, because I was watching with my 21-month-old child whom I have managed not yet to kill.
Here's a brief look at what it was like:
It began with a personal foul on my part: I pointed out that the lady singing the national anthem was, in fact, Princess Elsa.
"PRINCESS ELSA! PRINCESS ELSA! PRINCESS ELSA! PRINCESS ELSA! PRINCESS ELSA!"
"Right. Princess Elsa. She's singing, listen."
"PRINCESS ELSA! PRINCESS ELSA! PRINCESS ELSA! PRINCESS ELSA! PRINCESS ELSA!"
Now multiply this exchange by twenty.
The football game kicks off, which she normally enjoys. And she did, because in front of the television was a glass of seltzer I had poured for myself four hours earlier.
"MOMMY'S SELTZER! Have some. Have some. Have some. Mommy's seltzer have some."
She proceeds to gnash her teeth on the glass and attempt to guzzle and jump on the couch as I give her a sip. She jumps off the couch, drinks some seltzer. Jumps back on the couch, drinks some seltzer. Spills some on her shirt, we have to dry it. Drinks more. Asks for some in her cup. Demands to see my cup while she drinks from hers.
I distract her from the seltzer long enough to watch a commercial, and look back to see her leaping up and down and heading for the arm of the couch, which she intends to ride like a horse. We compromise and her stuffed lion rides instead, while she spends some time removing her socks and taking turns attempting to put them on her feet, my feet, and her dad's feet. This lasts about forty seconds, then she hops down and starts tearing DVDs from the shelf beneath the television.
The first quarter is over. My husband and I have eaten nothing. Bedtime is still a million miles away.
I have a brilliant flash and bring down materials for her to do some coloring. We optimistically crack open a couple of beers moments before the crayons are dumped all over the floor, which gives her a chance to snatch the corkscrew and metal caps while we're distracted. We deftly remove them from her tiny, psychotic fists no sooner than she makes her way for one of our full bottles.
Looks like we could have used that Nationwide commercial, after all.
We are so, so hungry. Can we put her to bed now? What about now? How do people do this? I am lost in my own head for a moment, absorbed in a downward spiral of mom shame in which I think about all the cool things other parents are able to do with their babies, like go to bars and go on vacation and eat dinner and have more babies and attend carnivals and eat dinner. We can't even get through fifteen minutes in our own basement and oh my god, she's got a pen and she's heading for my computer.
I calmly inform her that computers aren't toys and pens aren't crayons. She doesn't take the news well. Hysterical, dramatic crying ensues, and I begin to feel reassured in my desire to put her to sleep. We head upstairs, she wrangles five bedtime books out of me, and I return just in time to see Katy Perry screeching atop a robot lion (?) in an outfit I assume she borrowed from Guy Fieri.
Living the American dream. Until next year, football.
Nina Pajak is a writer living with her husband, daughter and dog in Queens. Connect with Nina on Twitter!
