When it comes to motherhood, honesty should be the best policy. Rather than telling the truth however, women sugar coat, omit details
and sometimes downright lie about all things surrounding raising children. As a result there is a certain degree of
naivety that goes into the decision to have a child. Nevertheless, you jump, thinking it is going to be that dreamy experience that the women you trust have deceived you with your whole life. I will tell you here and now, it isn't what you think it is going to be. Although there will be innumerable rewards along the way, I guarantee that more often than not you will find yourself looking at your sleepy shell
of a reflection in the mirror, your once impeccably clean house littered with tripping hazards that double as play toys, your previously maintained car covered in what you can only assumed to be crumbled Goldfish crackers and residual
apple juice, and say to yourself, “What the fuck was I thinking?”
Well, actually, let
me digress a bit. There must be two types of women on this earth-the kind that
were just born to be mothers (um, the crazy Duggar mom, whatever her name is) and the type that go along with
it because it is what everyone else is doing and it seems like the natural
thing to do (think Brittany Spears). After all, the progression of mankind
sort of relies on the undeniable instinct to go ahead and give it a shot so I'm not actually overly certain that there is even a difference in these two types of women. Must be then, that some are good at mommy hood and some (read: ME) who find it to be really freaking difficult every single day. See, my whole life I thought I was born to be a mommy, but I am coming to the realization that I am more of the go along with the crowd type. So, as I write and reflect on my experiences as a mom so far, know that this is where I am coming from. I suspect that I am not the only woman who feels like raising children is utterly overwhelming and exhausting most of the time. Actually, I am pretty sure that most women feel this way. It is just that nobody really talks about it openly. And there is lots of lying involved when they do.
I suppose that if our moms, sisters and friends told us the
whole truth about childbearing and rearing we would probably not even consider
the possibility. I can’t imagine any woman in her right mind saying, yep,
sounds great, sign me up. I’d love to go through 9 months (more like 10…another
thing they never really tell you) of no Sauvignon Blanc, increasingly dimply
thighs, bloat from merely looking at a pickle, and the constant urge to pee even though there is only like a
tablespoon of urine accumulated inside of your bladder since the last time you
waddled your expanding ass to the toilet. And that is only pregnancy.
Moving along to the baby...(we'll just glaze past the whole birthing experience, because unless you are one of those freakish people who either love and embrace natural childbirth or have an abnormal tolerance for pain, it is going to be terrible and I will just leave that for you to experience or recount on your own, because I don't need to here). They tell you that you will be tired, but they don’t tell you
that you will be thoroughly exhausted for the first 6 months after the baby is
born, and that you most certainly will never sleep the same again in your life.
If you aren't awake to feed, or change, you can't sleep because you are anxious thinking about some crazy ass shit that could happen, but really probably won't. Like, that you might not wake up if they do, that they might stop breathing and not wake up at all, that you will both wake up and you will feed and change but then you will drift off while holding them in the rocker singing the millionth lullaby of the evening and drop them on their perfect, tiny head. My three year old, Corryn, was never dropped on her head in the middle of the night and Zoey's head is still dent free after 10 months under my watch. My house isn't perfectly clean, my car is a hot mess and I still lie awake at night (even after I have checked on them both countless times) wondering what they would like for their next birthday, how we are going to pay for college and first cars, and even still if the little one is going to keep breathing through the night. So far, so good. Right? Hmmm....
I always have Wednesday's off from work. I try to work in the perfect balance of getting shit done and fun time with my kids. Which means, as usual, that I pack more into our day than should be manageable and it usually isn't, which means that we all have meltdowns along the way. Today Zoey had a 30 minute nap in between the spray ground, the produce stand and home. She woke up as I carried her in from the car and even though I entrusted my 3 year old to go play in her room (I could hear her scaling her bookshelf, which has been tethered to the wall due to this habit, and jumping on her bed while throwing miscellaneous crap around which I will later have to pick up) while I tried to get her back down. It didn't work. So, I found myself with dirty dishes, laundry, produce that needed to be cleaned and put away, all of the crap from the spray grounds that needed the same, a cranky ass baby and a wild and a defiant toddler to contend with all at the same time. Recipe for disaster...
As I'm trying to make it all work, the doorbell rings and the bratty ass little neighbor girl wants to come over and play. Why not? What is 1 more added to the mix? I figure that she'll keep Corryn occupied and I can get dinner done and all of the rest of the crap taken care of. Of course the baby wants to be with them and after making sure that there is nothing around she can choke on, hesitantly hoping that the 7 year old neighbor to alert me if such a situation should arise, I go about my business. As I mold turkey burgers and cut lettuce for salad I hearing screaming that Corryn is kicking Gracie, the neighbor, in the face because she doesn't want to do some dumb ass thing exactly the way she wants her too. I decide everyone needs to come out with me and watch a show. I feel guilty, yet thankful for television, but my plan quickly backfires when Corryn decides to pick Zoey up by the arms and hurl her around the lving room since apparently the show isn't quite as distracting as I thought it would be. Sigh.
Thankfully daddy made it home just in time and I hand him the baby and give him that look. You know, the one that says, "Thanks for leaving me at home alone with the kids, jerk. Now it's your turn. I'll be hiding under the bathroom cabinet and don't you dare freaking bother me unless someone is bleeding." Of course, I don't really hide but finish the dinner (the turkey burgers we so over salted from my mad scramble to try and get everything done at once that they were barely edible) as I simultaneously wash laundry, clean out the fridge and wash baby bottles. We eat, bathe the kiddos (neighbor girl included) and get the little rug rats in their respective beds to sleep for the night. I scramble to finish the laundry and dishes, get my clothes, gym clothes, pump and lunch all ready to go as my husband sits on the couch saying "Babe, why don't you come sit down." I curse him under my breath because I'm still running around like a chicken with my head cut off while he just sits there. WTF..
Finally, I pop open that much anticipated happiness in a bottle (Diet Coke or Sauvignon Blanc, depending on the time of day) and sit back on the couch to reflect. It is now almost 10pm and I have to be up by 6am. I feel thankful for the hour to myself and wonder if we are going to get some sleep. I contemplate staying up drinking and as usual decide that it makes more sense to keep sipping than it would to lay down and actually try and get close to 8 hours of sleep. Screw it, I say to myself and think of my Grandma who used to always say, "I'll sleep when I'm dead." After all, those few hours are the ONLY time I get to pee alone, use my arms for something other than hauling a child around and actually feel a tiny bit of that sense of freedom I felt before the little people came to be.
As I brush my teeth and settle in I once again look at my tired eyes and skin that has become noticeably more wrinkly since having children and kind of shake my head. Never did I think I would spend my days arguing about whether or not clothes are actually needed to leave the house, unclogging toilets after my eldest has deposited half the roll in the bowl, or giving impromptu baths after discovering that Corryn has given herself a swirly in questionable toilet water. I check to make sure that they are breathing one more time and crawl into bed. As I drift to sleep wondering how I make it through the day without strangling my precious babes I think of something my good friend Sarah told me shortly after giving birth to her first son. Over wine one night she looked me square in the eyes and said "I love him, just so much. I don't know what I would do if any thing ever happened to him, Smash," she said. "I just wouldn't be right."
I think of those words often and realize that maybe they do tell it like it is. All of the shit those little people put us through is really insignificant in the whole big picture of things. Even though some days it feels like someone might end up dead or in jail (maybe both?) we are able to get past it and turn it into a funny story for the future. What always remains is the profound love that as a mother you feel for your children. Even though they didn't tell the whole truth, I am thankful everyday that I believed them and took the leap (the first time at least, the second time it was more like falling...) My daughters are amazing in so many ways and I am proud to be their mommy. I wouldn't trade it for the world and will probably one day sugar coat, omit details and downright lie to my kids about some aspects of motherhood in hopes that they will get to experience it all on their own.
