Motherhood. It’s not so glamorous. Especially that whole, “becoming a mother” act of birthing a child. Sure, making the baby was fun but who thinks about what motherhood is going to be during that, um, private time? I didn’t! Did you? I thought about all the cute baby clothes, the baby shoes, the baby bottles and the baby bibs and the softest baby blankets.
And then there’s a real baby. In your arms. And your body is blissed out and you just love that bundle because you just do.
Remember all the diapers? Oh, and the endless crying: day and night! Those first few months of new-born motherhood was like an endless babysitting gig. I remember thinking “where are the parents and when are they coming home?”
And the DIAPERS. All the diapers. There were so many diapers that smelled like one million miles of cow manure emanating from the bum of your sweet little one.
And how pretty did you feel? Did you even wear deodorant the first few weeks? I recall a shower here and there. I remember many long nights, awake. And I’m not even a single mom. Where was the father of my children you ask? Snoring, peacefully through all the night time feedings, changings, and scary-first-time-fevers and stuffy noses.
And then the babies grew to toddle around and then they soon began running away from me, in different directions, always laughing at their new game of “chase us around the house and yard before you go to work.”
And I still got the kids to day care, preschool and now school. And I still show up to work. Note. I show up. Sometimes I’m on time. Mostly I’m not. And my appearance now is much how I looked like during the first few months of brand new motherhood. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the windows to my office building and pray security doesn’t stop me for trespassing. I see how my coworkers look at me: first my hair; then my outfit; and always my shoes. I rock the pumps, no matter what. But I still look like hell when I get to work. But my kids? Cute as a GAP ad.
Yeah. I’m a mom. To two very intelligent, humorous, clever, polite, noisy, smelly, dirty and awesome boys. You see, my kids don’t act so “polite” when I’m with them. When they are with other mom’s, you should hear all the lies those other moms tell about my kids! “He was so helpful!” or “He took his plate right to the kitchen and I didn’t even ask!” or “He is so polite and held the door open for me!”
Are these my kids?
Because at home, this is what I hear:
“Mom, tell him to leave me alone!” or “Mom, he’s playing with my (insert toy of the hour here)” or “I told him to get out of my room and he won’t leave” or “he’s touching me!” or “GET OUT OF MY ROOM” or “Stop Farting on my head!”
I know. I know. This only happens to me. Your kids do no wrong (at someone else’s house). But at my house, I can let kids be kids. Because my house is designed to be lived in. By kids. By us. If it’s breakable, it will be broken. If it’s soft and bouncy, it will be bounced on and if it’s vertical a ball will be thrown at it and probably break a framed 2nd hand piece of art or a much adored school picture.
And we are not always gentle people. We move quickly. Determined. Ok, we’re late for stuff. Whatever. Often, my front door is found open, my kids and the neighbor kids streaming through the front door to the back door. At the back door, this also includes frantic screams for help because our three big dogs (really, it’s two big dogs and one little dog with a size issue) gate rush the back door, plow over whatever size human is unfortunate enough to open that back door gate to “hello dogs!” and I’m the one running around the house, yard or neighborhood screaming out ridiculous dog names, which brings out the neighbors, looking, watching….judging. And then, there is a pack of tiny neighborhood humans, searching for a wild pack of domesticated dogs enjoying their freedom.
Yes, Motherhood is chaos. It’s crazy and full of unexpected sights and smells. An adventure that no one can tell you about because you have to live it to believe it. And that’s a pretty glamorous life to live.