Mom-plaining is the name I like to give to what I do.
Its when I complain about the things I love the most in the world. And then people give me that look (you know the one), that says “if you hate it so much, then why do you do it?”.
The answer to that is twofold. First, I cant put either of them back in now. So, theres that.
The second is more complicated. Because this mom gig is alternately the best and the worst one Ive ever had.
There are mornings like today, when you couldnt ask for a better job. Im drinking pumpkin coffee, watching DVR’d Glee (DVR’d because HELLO - 9 pm? Do you have ANY idea how late NINE FUCKING PM is in mom world? You might as well be airing it alongside the infomercials in the middle of the night) .... (new moms would be able to watch though because thats when youre up ever hour on the hour), and watching John destroy everything in his direct path (he knows how to rawr too, which really adds something).
I look over, because hes been quiet for 2.5 seconds (do you know how long that is in baby world? I cant get off the couch in 2.5 seconds, an 11 month old can cover the dog in peanut butter, get himself wedged behind the desk, or reprogram your xbox to only Elmos World), and I see him sitting mesmerized at Glee. This is a win, win, and one more win for me. I can get a tiny bit of quiet, I can write a blog post, and I can catch up on my show instead of having to crack out with DJ Lance Rock.
(Has no one else wondered why they named her Foofa? And has no one else spent six months wondering why they named her FUPA and what kind of shit that was on a kids show? Just me?)
So these are the times when I understand why people this this is the greatest job in the world. Today things are warm, and pumpkin-y, and cute. We are basically in a Lifetime movie’s “before” picture.
The problem is, when the horror hits, it hits big. Its running on 3 hours sleep (because of COURSE we should have a dance party at 4 am - is there any other time?), while scooping poop out of the tub (there is no other place to potty apparently), with dogs that brought in fleas, and a teenager who brought home an F, and a husband thats not coming home for a week. Its checking Facebook to see your friends (who are still thin, those whores) springing from their 10 hour slumber to put on their jeans (that button!) and head to the mall - where they will shop for hours without anyone screaming, crying, or throwing up (unless they are hung over, in which case all bets are off). Then they will sip wine while getting ready to head somewhere fabulous for the night. Theyll take huggy-huggy pictures with their BFF’s and I will be green with envy when I see these at the 4th nighttime feeding.
In my head, I realize that its not this way all the time. The grass is ALWAYS greener on the other side, and I know that many people would give anything to be in my shoes .... no matter how small they are from my swollen feet.
