Anything but ordinary
Some days, I feel like my life is not my own. I go in slow motion, and I act slightly as a robot... doing the things that must get done. I do laundry and it is overflowing with super hero underwear and tiny shirts and ratty, frayed, and dirty cargo pants. Wandering through my apartment at night, cleaning everything up after the day, I will find a variety of random boy toys. I roll over on the couch and find a car digging into my hip. I am a master of child meals. I know how to make oatmeal with blueberries in the perfect, slighty odd way (blueberries still frozen). It's surreal, being a mother. A lot of times I discover that I feel like I have no idea how I happened into this life. How I became this woman who cleans at night, and sits in a bedroom watching my little boy sleep at night. How I became the one who kisses ouches, blows on hot food, fills water bottles and gives hugs and kisses. I am the one who knows the way to this child's heart in intricate ways. I never really planned on being entrusted with a little life in the way that I have. I have framed paintings on the walls done with fingerpaints. I have cupboards full of kid vitamins and many bottles of children's medicine. I have a fridge full of food I would never eat, jello cups, pudding, string cheese. It surprises me to find I am an adult. That I am responsible. Not that I would say I wasn't, before I became a mom... but suddenly owning this life surprises me. Everything that I do, all day long, surprises me. I never meant to be the girl who was both parents to anyone. I never realized, as a younger girl, dreaming about motherhood some day that it would mean being vomited on, peed on, or sneezed on. That it would mean dirty sticky fingers on my kitchen chairs, smeared mirrors, and laundry up to my ears. I have plastic door knobs, outlet covers, and only half a back seat. I have a wagon, with a big stroller in the back.
It means hearing 'I love you mommy, hold me mommy, I need a hug and a kiss, mommy you look beautiful'. Or this particular exchange
"Mommy, you look huge"
"Sweetie! Girls don't like to be huge... they like to be small and skinny"
...brief silence while Ben ponders this...
"Mom, your ears are really tiny. Mine are big, but yours are very small"
His smile lights up the day, the hour, the minute, and always my bitter mood. He is stubborn and sassy as his mother before him. He is impatient, and he chews hard candy. He drinks water by the gallon, and hates to wake up in the morning.
Some days, I want to be selfish... and I allow myself to think of the things I could do if I was just a single woman. My car wouldn't be 10 years old. Hell, it might only have two doors, not 4, and a trunk, instead of a hatchback. I would only have to rent an apartment with one room, and it could probably be a nicer place. I would have new couches. I could go for a 10 mile run without having to spend days planning for babysitters. I could go out with my friends and not worry about a text every half hour asking if I was coming home yet. Yes, someday all of this will change. I'm hardly much of a drinker, so I don't miss going out, and when I do, I invariably say or do things I will probably cringe at in the morning. So it doesn't sadden me. It's not loss, these things, but it is a feeling of annoyance at myself for wishing I was so untethered, and frustration at others in my life who I want help from, so that I can do something like a long run, or coffee with a friend, or just a trip to the grocery store without a battle over 'the drive cart'. I wouldn't live paycheck to paycheck. I wouldn't have credit card debt. I might have a college degree.
I wouldn't have a small jar on my TV with flowers in it that my little boy was so proud to give me. I wouldn't have pages of painted hand prints going through the ages. I wouldn't get the chance to run 5 miles, instead of 10, pushing along a jogging stroller. I wouldn't hear the quiet words Ben whispers in his sleep. I wouldn't watch as he chased the cats, trying to herd them. See him bringing me flowers, or ordering my drink at Starbucks.
I have a hard time sometimes, finding a balance. I get very bitter with myself when I start to daydream about a life as a single woman, with no child. I would normally be loathe to admit that, but I know that I am not the only one, and that even married mothers probably long for the days when nobody needs them except themselves. When their showers weren't interrupted by voices that need to use the potty, and have to be reminded not to flush so they don't burn mommy with scalding water. Who try to feed the cats cereal. A woman who's job is not to clean up spills on the floor, bowls of congealing food, or filthy fingers and faces.
I'm not sure who I would be, if I wasn't me, or what it would look like. All of it is vain. Materialistic. Nicer things, more free time to myself. A flat stomach with no stretch marks. I'd have marathons under my belt already. I wouldn't be me. Would I be better or worse for it? Maybe just emptier. 4 Mother's days have passed since I joined the ranks. I am a mother. It still surprises me when I think of it. As days go by. Sometimes, I am not the best at it. A lot of times I make mistakes. My son quotes Sex and the City episodes, shame on me. He knows what words are bad and tells me not to use them, and I can only wonder how many times he's SAID them before he learned they were bad. If he didn't tell me he was hungry, I might forget to feed him, the way I forget to eat myself, if someone doesn't remind me to do it. I cry a lot, and get angry with stupid things. Some days, I feel like I barely have my life pulled together, and my patience is the thing that will slip through the cracks. I put my makeup on in the car. We giggle a lot. He dresses himself sometimes, and I will take him to 'school' wearing army sweats, a plaid button down shirt and crocs.
I guess this is what being a mother is... even if sometimes I am surprised to find I am still doing it, even if I have no idea how.
It means hearing 'I love you mommy, hold me mommy, I need a hug and a kiss, mommy you look beautiful'. Or this particular exchange
"Mommy, you look huge"
"Sweetie! Girls don't like to be huge... they like to be small and skinny"
...brief silence while Ben ponders this...
"Mom, your ears are really tiny. Mine are big, but yours are very small"
His smile lights up the day, the hour, the minute, and always my bitter mood. He is stubborn and sassy as his mother before him. He is impatient, and he chews hard candy. He drinks water by the gallon, and hates to wake up in the morning.
Some days, I want to be selfish... and I allow myself to think of the things I could do if I was just a single woman. My car wouldn't be 10 years old. Hell, it might only have two doors, not 4, and a trunk, instead of a hatchback. I would only have to rent an apartment with one room, and it could probably be a nicer place. I would have new couches. I could go for a 10 mile run without having to spend days planning for babysitters. I could go out with my friends and not worry about a text every half hour asking if I was coming home yet. Yes, someday all of this will change. I'm hardly much of a drinker, so I don't miss going out, and when I do, I invariably say or do things I will probably cringe at in the morning. So it doesn't sadden me. It's not loss, these things, but it is a feeling of annoyance at myself for wishing I was so untethered, and frustration at others in my life who I want help from, so that I can do something like a long run, or coffee with a friend, or just a trip to the grocery store without a battle over 'the drive cart'. I wouldn't live paycheck to paycheck. I wouldn't have credit card debt. I might have a college degree.
I wouldn't have a small jar on my TV with flowers in it that my little boy was so proud to give me. I wouldn't have pages of painted hand prints going through the ages. I wouldn't get the chance to run 5 miles, instead of 10, pushing along a jogging stroller. I wouldn't hear the quiet words Ben whispers in his sleep. I wouldn't watch as he chased the cats, trying to herd them. See him bringing me flowers, or ordering my drink at Starbucks.
I have a hard time sometimes, finding a balance. I get very bitter with myself when I start to daydream about a life as a single woman, with no child. I would normally be loathe to admit that, but I know that I am not the only one, and that even married mothers probably long for the days when nobody needs them except themselves. When their showers weren't interrupted by voices that need to use the potty, and have to be reminded not to flush so they don't burn mommy with scalding water. Who try to feed the cats cereal. A woman who's job is not to clean up spills on the floor, bowls of congealing food, or filthy fingers and faces.
I'm not sure who I would be, if I wasn't me, or what it would look like. All of it is vain. Materialistic. Nicer things, more free time to myself. A flat stomach with no stretch marks. I'd have marathons under my belt already. I wouldn't be me. Would I be better or worse for it? Maybe just emptier. 4 Mother's days have passed since I joined the ranks. I am a mother. It still surprises me when I think of it. As days go by. Sometimes, I am not the best at it. A lot of times I make mistakes. My son quotes Sex and the City episodes, shame on me. He knows what words are bad and tells me not to use them, and I can only wonder how many times he's SAID them before he learned they were bad. If he didn't tell me he was hungry, I might forget to feed him, the way I forget to eat myself, if someone doesn't remind me to do it. I cry a lot, and get angry with stupid things. Some days, I feel like I barely have my life pulled together, and my patience is the thing that will slip through the cracks. I put my makeup on in the car. We giggle a lot. He dresses himself sometimes, and I will take him to 'school' wearing army sweats, a plaid button down shirt and crocs.
I guess this is what being a mother is... even if sometimes I am surprised to find I am still doing it, even if I have no idea how.