I did it. I actually did it. I have sunk into the slimy pool of terrible mothers. I told my son to “shut up.” In a house where those words are not allowed, though I have many times muttered it in distant rooms where my whining, screaming, tattling children couldn’t hear me, I said it to my 4 year old son’s face. And I yelled it too. I’m sure some of you are thinking, “Put this wretched woman in jail!” but I’m sure most of you are thinking, “Seriously? It took you 4 years to say it?” Either way, let me give a little background here, not that there is any excuse for it, but just so you know I didn’t just decide to dump my good parenting down the toilet on a whim.
Have you ever asked God to remove the things in your life that are separating you from Him? Yeah? How’s that workin’ out for ya?
Up until I was twelve I had a very bad habit of biting my nails down to the quick. So one day I decided I was going to break the habit and I did. It was hard work, but I did it in just a few months (apparently, I was a twelve year old with the self-discipline and will power of a Buddhist monk). For the next three years I loved my fingernails and felt a surge of pride whenever I saw them. When I was fifteen I distinctly remember one day admiring my long beautiful nails. I stretched my hands out in front of me and ran my long nails along the cabinet. Lovely!
I can think of 4 reasons for being depressed and I will break them down as follows (keep in mind, that even though these situations are generalizations, when I say “You” I really mean “Me”):
1. You’re pregnant. No, you’re not depressed because you’re going to have a baby (hopefully). You’re depressed because your emotions overdosed on something funky and they’re skyrocketing through the roof and experiencing some major jet lag and fatigue.
Several months ago, just before Christmas actually, I had a gorgeous man sitting in my living room tell me he “respects me so much” for being, essentially, a housewife. Pinch me, I must be dreaming!
Okay, so the man was only my husband (and yes, he really is gorgeous), BUT, doesn’t that make it so much BETTER?!! Let me explain…
Growing up, my family was never very financially stable. My parents lost businesses, houses, pride, you name it. I came out of that saying, “Not me.” That stuff wasn’t going to happen to me.
My senior year of high school I was offered a credit card by a bank. They actually gave me a choice for my card limit. What kind of moron would NOT pick the highest possible limit? This moron. But I knew that I could and probably would get myself into some pretty hot water if I had a high limit, so I checked the box for a $150 limit on the application. By the time I was twenty I was financing a car and renting a house and my credit was impeccable. Uncontrollable debt? Not me!
One of my favorite things is hearing other women’s labor stories. No, I’m not being sarcastic, I am dead serious. And the worse the experience the more I love it! It’s like we joined an exclusive club and that’s how we bond. The easy births don’t interest me. If you were breathing calmly and praying gently during your non-epidural contractions and you popped out your child after four hours of labor, I have nothing to say to you, stop talking. I respect you very much, and yes, I agree that’s how it should be, but keep it to yourself next time, okay? This is a time for complaining, ladies! Whether you went natural or numbed, hospital or home, I relish every detail! After all, I do love to complain. More than most, I like to think. And when I experience something as traumatic and excruciating as labor, I feel the need to share.
I have a sneaking suspicion my eyebrows are slowly descending toward my eyes. I keep plucking them thinner and thinner so they look higher up than they actually are, but the distance is still narrowing.
Aging isn’t as gradual a process as I expected it to be. I woke up one morning with wrinkles on the sides of my mouth. I’m 28 years old! Isn’t this the prime of my life?! I was 100% positive they were frown lines, but as I stood in front of the mirror and contorted and twisted my face into all sorts of expressions, I discovered they were actually smile lines. That’s weird, I thought. Had I been smiling all night long or something? Surely, I don’t smile this much during the day? The discovery was a mixed blessing.
I have always wanted daughters. Ever since I was a teenager I asked my holiest of friends to pray that I would have only daughters. I figured God would listen to them. When I got pregnant, I was so sure it was a girl. I didn’t think it was possible for my body to make a boy. I assumed my body would just reject a boy sperm. I imagined a little sign at my cervix stating, “No Boys Allowed.” But you don’t have to imagine that about me. In fact, please don’t.
I found out I was pregnant with my first child two days before my husband and I left for our Hawaiian vacation. I had been getting nauseous at the same time every day that past week. So I took a pregnancy test. I bought the generic brand because it came with TWO(!) and it was way cheaper than the brand that actually worked but only had one in the package. How can someone mess up a pregnancy test? Anyone can pee on a stick. So when the first one said “negative” but the control window was blank, I knew I screwed up and would have to take the other test the next morning. It’s so fun to have to wait a whole day to find out if your life has changed forever.
Seriously? Seriously, I have to clean my floors again? I already sweep the dining room three times a day, and I just mopped, like, 2 days ago, but already I have to do it again? Does it ever end? DOES THIS EVER END?!!
Oh hey, I just started typing and my toddler, Eli, who spent 45 minutes crying himself to sleep for his nap, just woke up crying after 30 minutes of sleeping. I’m so excited to see him again. Gee, I hope he’s poopy, because the two nasties I changed this morning just really left me unsatisfied in the “how many diapers can I possibly change in one day” department. I wonder if my four year old, Gabriel, is going to pull all the pillows off the couches and chairs again and pile them in the middle of the floor for no reason whatsoever? Why do I even have all those stupid, pretty pillows?
Mmm…I LOVE the feel of cheerios under my feet when I walk through the house! Yes, children, PLEASE follow me around the house while I work. Cleaning the bathroom just wouldn’t be the same without all three of us packed between the counter and the toilet!