When motherhood gives you the finger
In my mind there are days when motherhood resembles the main character in Juno. Sarcastic, witty, and just on the edge of being a bitch. It's like no matter what you do, motherhood/Juno has a comment or comeback for you. No matter how hard you try, she dryly comments on how you could have done that better, or faster, or with more enthusiasm. I imagine her in my mind wearing a shirt that says "Ask me if I care", because on most days motherhood doesn't give a damn. So go ahead and plan that picnic, that play date, that trip to Target. Somewhere along the way motherhood is going to trip you up.
I've let motherhood get the best of me for a long time. Even now there are days when I'm so defeated. My Facebook status reads: It's one of those days. Those days. Where your kids are fighting over the same cookie, and even though you have a dozen, they both want that one. Those days, when you wake up with a to do list that would rival Martha Stewart's, only to find that your child is running a fever. Again. Those days, where there is not enough coffee, wine, or Housewives marathons to take you away.
Last week I was having one of those weeks. A week full of late nights and early mornings. A week of underlying mommy guilt for forgetting to lay out the days outfit, or sending an envelope in a folder. A week of not wanting to cook a single thing for dinner. I was letting it get to me. Worrying about blogging and emails, and getting the kids to bed at the right time. I was worried about how I was going to fit all the to dos into my life. Then I realized, there is not enough me, enough hours, and enough is enough.
So I gave motherhood the finger back.
I let the laundry go another day. Caitlin's hair didn't get washed for two consecutive days. I skipped a shower and went to Target in a hat and the previous days makeup. Let's be honest here, isn't this the life? Who made up these ridiculous rules about motherhood? No my mother certainly. When I was a kid, fast food dinners were the norm. My mama worked. She was good at her job, and in my eyes the best mom. Ever. So if she didn't put these ridiculous expectations on me, then who did?
Could it be that we, the women of the "have it all" generation have set ourselves up for heartache? I mean I was told that I could in fact have it all. The career, motherhood, the happy family behind the picket fence. At no time did anyone explain that behind that picket fence the kids would be fighting, the dishes would be stacked, and I'd be crying about all that and more. I feel like there should be a class offered at major universities called "failed dreams and disenchantment". Because so many of us set such a high standard for ourselves. I mean, we did go out and get our educations. We worked hard for those degrees. We fought our way up corporate ladders, to what? Get pregnant, and decline into a life of casual yoga pants and dressy yoga pants? I know this isn't the life that every mom leads, but there are a chosen few of us who procreated and then realized we weren't cut out for this shit at all. And it scared us and disappointed us and now we are the disenchanted. We laugh at those pregnant moms in Target full of hopes and dreams as they register for bottle warmers and boppies. Because we hope that they are the spared ones. The ones who are blissful, and glowing, even when they are covered in baby vomit from their statement necklace to their wedge sandals.
I'd like us to all take a pledge to give motherhood the finger. On those days. When you could get dressed up and made up but choose yoga pants instead. On the days when cookies for dinner sounds perfect. On those days when your house looks like you run a day care, but nope it's just you and your kid. Those days. Just for a minute, pour another cup of coffee, another glass of wine, perhaps crack open a beer, and have a seat. Put up your feet, yell at the kids from the couch, and take a minute to say,
F you motherhood. I'm just fine, in fact I'm perfect.
