Apparently, an “adult coloring book” is a collection of very detailed drawings with mature themes, such as flowers or Christianity. The idea is that you purchase one of these books by the cash register at Target or the grocery store, after a harrowing experience getting yelled at by old ladies about why you shouldn’t dress your daughter in blue because it’s confusing, three tantrums in two separate aisles, and a devastating blowout diaper in the dairy aisle that will ensure no one will be buying yogurt this week. At the end of the day, you will use the boundless reservoir of energy your children/spouse/pets/work did not exhaust to sit on the couch with a set of colored pencils and fill in teeny tiny boxes with various colors to produce a nauseating mandala.
Of course, I love these things, because I love suffering. That’s why I had a child.
I made my own adult coloring book, which is for new parents. These drawings are meant to relax you as you reflect on your day of narrowly avoiding tragedy. Color in the tiny, screaming, pantsless baby with a (large) goblet of wine beside you and a marker the dog just tried to eat. Try not to get queasy with your own smell, which is a combination of baby vomit and old poop. Namaste.
Drawing 1: You’re Late and You Finally Got Your Baby in the Car Seat and She Used That Moment to Explode Her Diaper
Oh, did you have plans today? Not if your baby has anything to say about it. There is a 100-percent chance that your baby will explode with various disgusting fluids the instant you wrangle them into their car seat. Relax with this drawing, and delight in the memory of the pediatrician scolding you for not being on time, after making you wait for 35 minutes before seeing you anyway.
Drawing 2: Old Lady in the Grocery Store Parking Lot Yells at You Because It’s 60 Degrees and Your Baby Is Not Wearing Socks to Walk the 100 Feet Between the Store Entrance and the Car and Is Therefore Doomed
It is impossible to fathom how much free advice is available in the world until you have a child. The moment you do and you take that child out in public, shady old lady figures will emerge from the shadows to constantly inform you that: “You’re doing it wrong.” “Did you know that your baby will have lifelong ear problems if they don’t wear a hat for 30 seconds outside?” “Did you know that your child is squirming out of the restaurant high chair?” I recommend letting all of these ladies know that your child’s favorite food is dog hair, and she also rarely wears pants, and when she’s screaming, you let her lick your cell phone with robust enthusiasm. In other words: “Please fuck off.”
Drawing 3: You Turned Around for One Second and Now Your Baby Has Just Eaten Driveway Gravel
Driveway gravel is a rock, and rocks are a mineral, right? One of the first things I learned as a new mom was that vacuuming infinite times per day does not matter. My child has Navy-level sonar for disgusting things on the floor. She will find that pretzel rod you accidentally dropped last March when you got distracted while watching Bravo, and she will eat it. She will eat the driveway gravel, and the dried leaves by the welcome mat, and her own vomit. She is ravenous.
Drawing 4: Your Baby Is Allergic to Pants, Particularly in Public, and Everybody Is Judging You, Because Please Put Pants On Your Baby
The only thing your baby hates more than pants is sitting still. Pants hinder their ability to make you look like a reasonably sane mother, one who dresses their child. Your child will make every effort to resist pants, and if you ever get them on, they will immediately drag them around your floors that apparently have never, ever been vacuumed and attract dog hair with stunning magnetism. Should we just go ahead and rename your child “Oliver Twist”? Everybody is looking at you and your pantsless baby. See Drawing 3 above, and know that you are doomed.
Congratulations on your new drawing hobby! It’s so important as a mother to have some “me” time. When I’m not cuddling my adorable spawn or coloring, I use mine to put on a giant, stained sweatsuit, rock back and forth in the corner, and scream, “Don’t touch me!” at my husband. I recommend colored pencils over markers.