It’s been said that being a parent is the toughest job in the world, and that has to be true because the person who said it was Oprah. And she didn’t just say it because she was pandering to all of the mothers who buy O, The Oprah Magazine so they can gaze at pictures of Eckhart Tolle hand-feeding baby geese, either. No, she said it because Jesus and/or Patti LaBelle told her that our planet will explode into fiery pieces if moms and dads don’t make wise decisions to keep our children healthy.
Now, obviously this decision-making is no small responsibility. In fact, from the very second your uterine wall is implanted, you’re forced to make hard choices. Hospital or birthing center? Breast or bottle? Co-sleeping or crib sleeping? “Dora the Explorer” or “shadow puppets on wall while Daddy plays Saskatchewan folk songs on his mouth lute”? I’m telling you, it can be super stressful. Just ask my friend Laura who gets so overwhelmed with decisions that she has to self-soothe in her closet with a cigarette in her mouth and a swim diaper on her head. Or at least she did until she realized too late that she’d chosen the flammable Huggies. (RIP Lil Mama!!)
But because I don’t need even one more headache in my life, I decided long ago to abolish all critical thinking skills when it comes to my children’s health. Research and knowledge? Facts and science? Medical professionals? Blech. Who needs that crap? Not me, man. Now I just do whatever Blondes on TV tell me to do.
Gushing cut on kid’s forehead? Heather Locklear says stick a leech on it!
Three-day stomach virus? Courtney Thorne-Smith suggests tofu shakes!
High fever and chills? “Imagine all of the poor children of the world hugging each other on a Swiss mountaintop and your kid will maybe not die,” advises Markie Post!
See, not only are these women blonde (Sanskrit for “boobs and wisdom”), but they’re on TV which means their opinions should be taken very seriously. I mean, do you know how hard it is to get on TV? It’s not like Harvard Medical School that accepts anyone with a pulse. No, you have to earn your way onto TV. You have look good in hot pants. And don’t even get me started on the Blondes in Playboy. I’d shove rotting, diseased Oscar Meyer hot dogs down my children’s throats if a topless magazine woman even hinted that she cured her kid’s ADD that way. Trust me: these sexy-but-not-too-sexy-think-more-girl-next-door-but-you’d-probably-still-have-a-chance-to-nail-her-even-if-you’re-gross Blondes should never be doubted.
Now when my kid falls off his bike and hits his head on the concrete pavement, I no longer freak out and call our pediatrician or even 911. And I certainly no longer waffle with decisions like getting him an MRI or one of those “medical life support thingys” that might “bring him back from the white light.” No, I simply ask myself, “What would a Blonde on TV do?”, then I relax with a glass of white wine while my child puts on copper healing bracelets and cries silent, painful tears until he passes out. (Thanks, Loni Anderson!)
So the next time you’re feeling overwhelmed with this “tough” job of parenting, remember that there’s help. Remember that there are medical experts just a remote control click away. And remember that when your kid starts an easily preventable pandemic at his camp this summer, it’s not your fault, mama.
Just ask the Blondes on TV.
(With apologies to Loni, Courteney, Heather and Markie who never said any of that junk and who seem like nice ladies.)