Being the mother of two small kids is exhausting. My very vise friend Susan once told me:
“Having one kid is having one kid. Having two kids, is having 10 kids”.
I now understand what she means. It isn’t just double up on the workload. Somehow, it is 10 times harder having two. I can’t even imagine what having more would be like.
And then I think about how good I have it. I feel ashamed of myself, whining, when I have every comfort available to me – we don’t live in a clay hut, my husband doesn’t beat me or drink up the little money I earned collecting firewood, he actually helps out quite a bit.
I even have a cleaning lady, who comes once a week and scrapes the gunk off the floor where the 2-year old’s high chair is. We have a car, electricity, running water, medical care. We have daycare, school, helpful grandparents and are surrounded by love, worldly goods and safety.
So apart from me being a spoiled brat, I whine because:
When they are awake, I don’t own myself. They own me. They want something. ALL. THE. TIME.
I sometimes tiptoe out to the toilet. Quiet as a mouse, I shut the door and with eerie silence, I open my pants and pull them down, while I try to breathe through my mouth without making a noise as I sit down. Just as I am about to do the things people like to do ALONE and IN PRIVATE, someone comes to the door.
If he is 2, he’ll yell: “Uuuaaaah??!”
If he is 6, he’ll ask: “Mooom, what are you doing?”
If he is 35, he’ll say: “Do you know where the [insert whatever the fuck he is NOW missing] is?
In brief: If anyone else is home and conscious, I NEVER get to take an uninterrupted dump. Haven’t had one in 6 years.
They own me. And while it is nice to be wanted and needed, it is also nice to go away once in a while.
So the next time you hear of a mother, who is going away, it being on a romantic getaway with her lover (and/or husband) or a spa weekend with a girlfriend (and/or lover), know that the best thing about that isn’t the massages or the facials, the hand-held quiet strolls along the Seine, the romantic dinners or the candlelight. It is the time she gets alone. Just sitting. On the loo.
Ahh.
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“When they are awake, I don’t own myself. They own me. They want something. ALL. THE. TIME.”
The voice of experience understands (2 here, also!). It also says the ever-trite, “this too shall pass.” It gets better. I promise. S-l-o-w-l-y. By the time your sons are disinterested in shadowing you, your husband will have figured out where everything is/belongs/can be found. Then it’s quiet. Sometimes eerily. I wonder if I shall long for the days of interruptions again at some point. But not so far.
I’m at the point where one experiences extremes. I can enjoy the quiet, but there is still enough interference to torque the occasional jaw. Hence, the midnight ramblings when all the men are asleep and I can be alone with my thoughts and pursuits.
It gets better, I can see the quiet time coming. I’ll savor it for now, and wonder if I will miss it.
Perhaps I wasn’t quite clear. The day Hubby can find his own ass – using both hands – is the day hell freezes over.
In that sense, I’m lucky. Sooner than I might realize, the boys won’t need me anymore. But Hubby always will. Even when the wee ones have left the nest. Then we’ll be old and he’ll ask: “Have you seen my wallet?” And I’ll reply – from the crapper: “In you jacket!!” And it will be annoying. And lovely.
Soapie…..it DOES pass and then they are gone and living in other countries or planets or whatever. And I can’t believe your genius husband can’t find his ass! I love you more than worms as always! And you crack me up to boot!
As also a mom of 2 young boys I feel your pain! I loved reading this! I too have never used as you say the “crapper” alone! LOL!! I however, am single, but I the father of my children loses everything! And it is always no matter what one of our faults, even though we do not even live with him! Ahhhh men LOL