Brain Rot

We had the best of intentions when we set about having a baby and planning how to raise said baby. One of those absolutes was "we're not going to have a couch-potato-baby who watches television nonstop." Well, we made it six months before breaking that particular ideal. It was a subtle, gentle slide into temptation . . .

At first, we told ourselves that it was educational. We were one of those families that shelled out the big bucks for the entire "Your Baby Can Read" series of DVDs and books. This may have been helped by lack of sleep and those last few remaining brain cells being susceptible to power of suggestion from successful telemarketing approaches, but we're pretty sure deep down we just wanted to impress our friends who are also parents with a 11-month old whiz who could order her own kid's meal off the menu. So we sent away for the set and promptly began showing Charlotte the 30-minute videos.

Next up was the DVD player in the car. Yes, you may very well question why we bought the new car with a DVD system in it post-baby if we were intending on a tv-abstinent childhood. There was definitely some subliminal programming going on at the car dealership - somehow the minivan just seemed not quite complete without the DVD system. But I digress . . . so next, it was "Your Baby Can Read" in the car. And I have to say, for all of the naysayers out there, I much prefer the sound of a baby chuckling and repeating words back to the DVD system than the previous environment of screaming, crying, wriggling and writhing, and launching of toys and sippy cups at my head while driving. Sure, tv may rot the brain, but I can attest to hard objects hitting my head being pretty harmful to MY brain.

And then, it was Veggie Tales, which were a baby shower gift, and then Classical Baby on recommendation from a friend, and finally . . . Sesame Street. Now, if "Your Baby Can Read" is like juice, then Veggies Tales was like coffee, Classical Baby equivalent to a good martini, and I swear, Elmo and friends are just pure crack cocaine to our child. It started innocently enough at home - she enjoyed them in the car, maybe she would like to watch a video now and then on the flat screen at home so that we could accomplish minor tasks like cook or clean or get a drink of water or use the restroom, you know, the luxuries of parenthood. Innocent enough, we thought.

But then one weekend we all had the same cold, and the lingering side effect of allowing your toddler to watch non-stop Sesame Street so that you can lay on the sofa and wish you were dead . . . is that now your toddler runs for that tv every day demanding "Elmo! Elmo! ELMO!!!" and you sit on the sofa watching endless Sesame street episodes, wishing you were dead. Upside of her learning to talk is that you can finally get real feed back, "honey, which Elmo do you want to watch," followed by "Doctor Elmo!" and instantly, you have your answer and peace reigns once again. The downside of someone who is just learning to talk without the years of decision-making skills behind her language development is that (1) she sometimes forgets words she knows and strings together sounds while looking at you hopefully, then with frustration, and then pure annoyance and rage; and (2) she's apt to change her mind, within seconds of preferred program being started, to another program that is almost identical, and then change it back again.

Now, if we were better parents, or at least more stalwart and far more deaf, we would figure out a way to turn off that darn tv once and for all and sit down to spend some quality time with our child and maybe teach her some really useful life skills like how to count or the alphabet or how to make mommy a really strong espresso. On the other hand, Sesame Street is doing a pretty good job at the first two, and that nifty DVD player in the car allows mommy to do the third at her friendly, neighborhood crack house (e.g. Starbucks) just fine. So for now, this blog was brought to you by a desperate and sheepish mom and the letter F and the number 10.