Why I Wish I’d Never Told My Kid About YouTube

AKA

How Animal Planet Ruined My Kid for Life

AKA

Yet Another Bad Mommy Moment

I’m a relatively intelligent human being.

I feel the need to stipulate that fact before I tell you this story.

I feel that need because I worry that you will think that I am the antithesis of intelligent after you read this.

Indeed, this is probably one of those stories that a weaker person would keep to herself. After all, if the world doesn’t know you are clueless, are you really clueless? Still, I’ve decided to share it because so many of you have thanked me for allowing you to feel normal. If nothing else, I can use this moment for good—to make the rest of you realize that you are better parents than you thought you were before you read this post.

I also feel the need to tell you that, as a health writer, I am well aware of the research about kids and media. I know all about how televisions, video games, the Internet and cell phones are melting their eyeballs, giving them all sorts of learning disorders, and fattening them as if they were Thanksgiving turkeys.

I know all of that, but I’m a self-employed working mom, and I’m not blessed with kind of income that would allow me to afford a live-in Nanny.

Therefore, when I have a humongous looming deadline, I have been known to do the unthinkable, which is this: use my television to baby-sit my child.

There. I said it.

But that’s the least of the story. There’s more. A lot more.

This has been a busy workweek for me. I’ve been writing with a “your deadline was yesterday” deadline. I was falling behind and needed some extra hours to catch back up.

So, last night, I asked my daughter if she wanted to watch TV while I worked.

There was a nice show about sharks on Animal Planet. My 5 year old loves sharks almost as much as she loves Star Wars (more on Star Wars in a second). So I turned it on.

My computer is in the same room as the TV, so it’s not as if she was completely unsupervised. I mean: I was right there.

Sort of. It must be said that when I write, I get really focused, so focused that my husband could completely disrobe and do 100 jumping jacks and I would not notice.

So focused that Hugh Jackman could walk up to me, offer to give me oral, disrobe, and do 100 jumping jacks and I would not notice.

When I write, it’s as if the rest of the world does not exist. It’s just me and my keyboard.

That’s why I didn’t truly hear my daughter when she told me that she needed me.

That’s why, when my brain picked up the faintest hint of the words, “Mommy, I need you,” I said what I generally say when she asks for my attention and I’m not really paying attention to what she is saying. It was this: In a minute.

She asked again. I said “in a minute again.”

She whined, “It’s been more than a minute.”

I said, “I just need one more minute.”

She said, “But Mommy! I’m scared.”

I said, “Yeah, right.”

I felt one of those prickly sensations on the back of my neck, the kind that you get when someone is staring at you. I looked up. She was standing there and tears were running down her face.

I looked at the TV. For some reason the nice show about sharks was not playing. Instead it was a show about what happens when some clueless human being like me gets the bright idea to sneak into the animal enclosure at the zoo.

A woman was holding onto a rope. People were trying to hoist her out. She was screaming. A polar bear was eating her rear end.

I thought, “How do I turn it off? How do I turn it off? How? How? Where’s the remote? Where is that stupid thing? Where? Where?”

I finally turned it off.

I hugged her. I apologized for being the worst mother in the entire universe.

She said, “When I tell you to sit next to me, I really mean it!”

I told her that I was sorry. Again.

And then I let her watch Phineas and Ferb to take her mind off things.

The very next morning, she asked if she could watch You Tube on my computer. I agreed, but this time I was smarter. I stood right next to her as she clicked on various videos. I’d learned my lesson.

She found a video that someone had taped at Disney World. It depicted various Star Wars characters dancing to music.

It was as rated G as rated G gets. I decided it was safe to take a bathroom break.

While in the bathroom, I heard her yell, “Can I watch the next video that has a dancing Storm Trooper?”

Assuming that it was a part 2 of the Disney video, I said, “Sure honey.”

After finishing in the bathroom, I headed right back to the computer. I found my daughter watching this video and imitating the dance moves. If she teaches this dance to her other kindergarten friends, I’m toast.

After all of that, I can understand why you might not trust my judgment, but I feel the need to tell you this anyway. I recently did a podcast with Corey Allan at SimpleMarriage.net and Gina Parris of GinaParris.com. It was about how to have sex after marriage, among other things. You can find it here.

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