I never thought the description of “mom” was short order cook, referee, chauffer, body excrement cleaner and wiper, maid, schedule keeper, nap Nazi, poop examiner, craft creator, rainy day entertainer, human air pump (good for balloons and inflatable pools), disaster relief specialist, infection detector, speech & etiquette therapist, and master detective in the “it-wasn’t-me!” game.
No one ever told me that things like diaper changes, getting dressed, getting told it's bath-time, getting told it's bed-time, getting strapped into the car seat, getting told "we're running late, it's time to go!", would elicit seizure-like activity in my children.
I didn’t know I would have embarrassing moments like standing in line at a busy fast food restaurant, and then be told by my 4 year old (with all the sincerity in the world, and a big smile on his face)…”mom, thanks for being an a$$hole”. (I will swear to this day he didn’t learn that world from me).
Who could have guessed that a full blown panic attack could be induced by a toddler who loses their “binky”, or, realizing that your house looks like a tornado ravaged a Toys-R-Us?
No. That wasn’t supposed to be my life. I thought I would be the “glamorous” mom. I would continue to work, get my hair done, regular visits to the nail salon, have Girls Nights Out and fit back into my size 6 clothes right after giving birth. I would never wear “mom jeans” with a waistband that lies just beneath my breasts that would never sag. No one would ever look at me and think “MOM”.
But, when I look in the mirror, that’s exactly what I see…”Madwoman On Medication”. MOM. I’m over-whelmed, over-worked, under-appreciated and under-paid. I’m not even sure how to balance the mundane on most days.
This is why I have to take a moment, and thank God for wine, anti-depressants, hot bubble baths, good vampire novels, home hair color, elastic waistbands….and the occasional times I get to sit at my computer (uninterrupted) and write.