I am not the rockstar I once was. I don't stay out late...returning home with new stories of drunken adventures every day. I don't run wild through the streets of whatever state I happen to be living in at the moment. I don't meet new and exciting people. I don't even save the world. In fact, at this point I'm lucky if I remember to change my underwear...much less get a shower.
Nope...These days I figure out which day of the week it is by what was on TV last night and whether I have to move the car this morning to avoid a ticket.
A GOOD day is no longer judged by getting my hung-over ass to work on time without anyone being the wiser. Eating the smallest lunch possible to keep my ass all kinds of svelt. And how early I can slip away from work to start the party all over again.
A good day involves driving my husband to work at the magical hour between "way too fucking early" and "when all the massholes are on the road to work too." It's a relaxing nursing/music on the ipod meditation session upon our return home...an easy 30 minutes on the stationary bike followed IMMEDIATELY by a shower and THEN the baby waking up. It's every Thursday I've remembered to take the garbage out and ESPECIALLY that Friday I heard the street cleaners coming and beat them to the curb for extra super bonus points by mere SECONDS.
It's boring. It's not even as predictable as I wish it were. It's satisfying. It's quiet. Sometimes I want to jump out of my skin. Most of the time I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
I've tried to explain to my husband exactly the kind of identity crisis being a stay at home mother is after all these years rockin' on my own, but he doesn't get it. I suppose I can't blame him...I mean, not only has he kinda ALWAYS been a family man, but HE goes out into the world like a functional human being and brings home a weekly check to PROVE how functional he is. I, on the other hand...do not.
I DO however, keep the house clean, the clothes washed, the refrigerator stocked with healthy snack, dinner made, drive the man to and from work, AND keep the child not only alive...but engaged in learning and growing.
I am the one who knows that babies are blind as shit, and therefore took the time and the $2 to replace the adorable, but very tan teddy bears from his magical swing (oh god bless that swing, god bless it!!!) with contrasting red and black construction paper hearts. In fact, I strung them up all over the house...from both ceiling fans and over the pack n' play/changing table to encourage that little boy to SEE damnit!
It's really quiet amazing the way one day Roger doesn't realize the feet he loves to kick during diaper changes are HIS...and then...
He "notices his feet" and it's a whole new world!!
I'm the one who is there when it happens. I'm the one who cheers and claps and makes up sing-songs about it so he'll want to 'notice his feet' again tomorrow.
And I am the one who narrates my whole day, no, not in baby talk but in real grown up speak so that his first word will be a sentence that is pronounced with perfect diction, thank you very much. I repeat my ten words of Italian over and over AND am beginning to use my American Sign Language, no, not my 'baby sign' but my real, grammatically fucking correct, American Sign Language...because my kid is a genius and don't you think he deserves the very best? Me too...
Wait...where was I going with this?
Oh right, I'm a fucking rock star!
Nope...These days I figure out which day of the week it is by what was on TV last night and whether I have to move the car this morning to avoid a ticket.
A GOOD day is no longer judged by getting my hung-over ass to work on time without anyone being the wiser. Eating the smallest lunch possible to keep my ass all kinds of svelt. And how early I can slip away from work to start the party all over again.
A good day involves driving my husband to work at the magical hour between "way too fucking early" and "when all the massholes are on the road to work too." It's a relaxing nursing/music on the ipod meditation session upon our return home...an easy 30 minutes on the stationary bike followed IMMEDIATELY by a shower and THEN the baby waking up. It's every Thursday I've remembered to take the garbage out and ESPECIALLY that Friday I heard the street cleaners coming and beat them to the curb for extra super bonus points by mere SECONDS.
It's boring. It's not even as predictable as I wish it were. It's satisfying. It's quiet. Sometimes I want to jump out of my skin. Most of the time I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
I've tried to explain to my husband exactly the kind of identity crisis being a stay at home mother is after all these years rockin' on my own, but he doesn't get it. I suppose I can't blame him...I mean, not only has he kinda ALWAYS been a family man, but HE goes out into the world like a functional human being and brings home a weekly check to PROVE how functional he is. I, on the other hand...do not.
I DO however, keep the house clean, the clothes washed, the refrigerator stocked with healthy snack, dinner made, drive the man to and from work, AND keep the child not only alive...but engaged in learning and growing.
I am the one who knows that babies are blind as shit, and therefore took the time and the $2 to replace the adorable, but very tan teddy bears from his magical swing (oh god bless that swing, god bless it!!!) with contrasting red and black construction paper hearts. In fact, I strung them up all over the house...from both ceiling fans and over the pack n' play/changing table to encourage that little boy to SEE damnit!
It's really quiet amazing the way one day Roger doesn't realize the feet he loves to kick during diaper changes are HIS...and then...
He "notices his feet" and it's a whole new world!!
I'm the one who is there when it happens. I'm the one who cheers and claps and makes up sing-songs about it so he'll want to 'notice his feet' again tomorrow.
And I am the one who narrates my whole day, no, not in baby talk but in real grown up speak so that his first word will be a sentence that is pronounced with perfect diction, thank you very much. I repeat my ten words of Italian over and over AND am beginning to use my American Sign Language, no, not my 'baby sign' but my real, grammatically fucking correct, American Sign Language...because my kid is a genius and don't you think he deserves the very best? Me too...
Wait...where was I going with this?
Oh right, I'm a fucking rock star!
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
:mj:
Gone are the days of European Jet setting, and going to work on a 1/2 hour sleep, to wake up and function with alcohol still oozing out of our poors.
But aren't you glad we experienced it?? Aren't you glad that we didn't get knocked up at 17, and THEN want to go through a wild phase when our children were here, and make them suffer through it??
To me, watching their face as their feet first touch the grass, is better then any night out, one night stand, or any vacation I have ever taken.
We are all rock stars... even though the mommy years!!