I'm clutching a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, pressing it to the table to counteract the drooping of my head. Three days of toting two kids through the hills and masses of San Francisco has me exhausted. I'm in the company of a dear friend, however, someone I've missed for the last eight years. If feels more like eons though, since with the two kids I've had in between, all I can think to talk about is pediatric rashes and the stink emanating from my armpits from napping a twenty-two pound baby on my back all week.
We could sit with each other for hours, but she's understandably perplexed at where to take the conversation from there. She just returned from a solo trip to Norway. Ya, Norway. And she probably showered. "So, what would you be doing if you had no kids?" she ventures.
Eleven years ago this friend and I were riding tuk tuks in Thailand together, but at this point in my life, thrills have changed.
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A few weeks after our conversation, I had my chance to imagine pooping alone. The kids were home with W while I sat for a job interview. It was a glimpse into the outside world that I hadn't seen in nearly two years, but I was feeling weary about adding more to my plate, especially since I am finally (finally!) finding my mommy groove. So it didn't take much-- the maddening rush hour traffic, my bullsh*t answer about how I've stayed relevant in the profession, or perhaps the Spanx digging trenches in my jiggly post-baby belly-- for me to turn my car towards home with a renewed appreciation for my real job.
W always says she could never do my job. But I could never do hers! I may have complained a bit over the last four years of parenting, but imagining a daily grind without my little people feels like a slow dagger to the heart. Sitting in that interview made me feel like I was The Groundhog sticking its head out of the ground. Only more winter from here, ladies! I'll be heading back to my hole, thank you very much. It may mean an audience while pooping, but it's intimate time well spent.
We could sit with each other for hours, but she's understandably perplexed at where to take the conversation from there. She just returned from a solo trip to Norway. Ya, Norway. And she probably showered. "So, what would you be doing if you had no kids?" she ventures.
Me: Huh? Like, what would I do in San Francisco? Or... what would I do in life?
Friend: In life. If you had no kids for... a month. What would you be doing?
Me: A MONTH! What?!
(long pause to assimilate this)
Me: Well... I'd work out. By myself. Maybe train for a triathlon again. Then I'd buy clothes that made me feel cute.
Phew, I thought as I relaxed back in my chair. I dug deep for that, but I've still got a little semblance of me under this mommy facade! But my answer isn't complete and my friend prompts me for more.
Friend: Would you travel? Take a trip?
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| Single ladies snorkeling |
Eleven years ago this friend and I were riding tuk tuks in Thailand together, but at this point in my life, thrills have changed.
Me: A trip? Noooo. You know what I'd do? I would lay in bed and read my magazines. For an entire month. And I would be SO HAPPY with that.
Oh, and I'd poop without anyone touching me.
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| San Francisco fun |
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| My preferred version of relevance |
A few weeks after our conversation, I had my chance to imagine pooping alone. The kids were home with W while I sat for a job interview. It was a glimpse into the outside world that I hadn't seen in nearly two years, but I was feeling weary about adding more to my plate, especially since I am finally (finally!) finding my mommy groove. So it didn't take much-- the maddening rush hour traffic, my bullsh*t answer about how I've stayed relevant in the profession, or perhaps the Spanx digging trenches in my jiggly post-baby belly-- for me to turn my car towards home with a renewed appreciation for my real job.
W always says she could never do my job. But I could never do hers! I may have complained a bit over the last four years of parenting, but imagining a daily grind without my little people feels like a slow dagger to the heart. Sitting in that interview made me feel like I was The Groundhog sticking its head out of the ground. Only more winter from here, ladies! I'll be heading back to my hole, thank you very much. It may mean an audience while pooping, but it's intimate time well spent.
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But back to my wife and the paid-work-is-a-dagger thing. I've winded my way here slowly because, while I may be an open book about, say, bladder control (poor) or my new cotton underpants (great), sharing the details of our division of labor is-- eeek-- so personal! But I am long overdue to shine light on the person whose sacrifice to The Man enables my sacrifice for Nug and Cookie (and ability to decline job offers, and then fill a blog post about it). It's been nearly five years since our motherhood adventure began, and my focused, dedicated, adoring co-parent deserves some words of affirmation.
(Besides, we are five weeks away from Mother's Day and you can't imagine the stress when you're a two mom family! I hope these words are an early gift to her. Happy 5th Mother's Day, W. I love you!).
(Besides, we are five weeks away from Mother's Day and you can't imagine the stress when you're a two mom family! I hope these words are an early gift to her. Happy 5th Mother's Day, W. I love you!).
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| Birthday delivery to the office |
Dear Wife,
I want to say thank you, but it's going to be awkward. This feeling of gratitude for you is new and strange (I know that makes me sound like an as*hole, but it is). Remember that fancy espresso machine in our DC apartment? I was really grateful for that. Stay-at-home motherhood? Not so much. Call it postpartum depression, or a MAJOR lack of sleep, or an infant that wouldn't sleep, but there were days when I would have eagerly dumped my responsibilities on anyone willing to take them. Parenthood wrung. me. out. It was every (wo)man for themselves.
And yet, you stood by my side and stayed the course. I admire you so much; not only for shouldering our financial burden, but in your ability to be present in spite of it.
W, you are my Big Picture.
You are my eyes ahead, so that I can take it one day at a time.
You are my grown-up brain when mine is gummed by toddler mantra.
You are my muse when nothing could possibly be funny (and singer of all silly songs).
You are my cheerleader and my desperately craving grilled cheese maker.
You are my two hands because mine always seem full of children.
You are my just have a glass of wine supporter (and lots of other go-with-the-flow encouragement).
And back when my body and mind were unrecognizable, you always held the kindest mirror.
Every day, you honor me as a mother.
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| Two moms + only one child = still not easy |
Thank you for willingly taking that dagger every day. Thank you for giving me and the kids the honor of learning and growing in our home, un-hurried, with each other.
That job interview was my own private horror show, one which sent me rushing home with some important information: You may get to poop alone, but I have the better deal. And I thank you, from the bottom of my dodged-a-dagger heart.
That job interview was my own private horror show, one which sent me rushing home with some important information: You may get to poop alone, but I have the better deal. And I thank you, from the bottom of my dodged-a-dagger heart.
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| Back when the old stuff was new |
This is very telling about your role as a mother . . .and it is a very down to earth, realistic approach. I especially enjoyed your story about private bathroom time. Keep up the positive ideas.
ReplyDeleteAfter reading your letter to W, I feel it is necessary to write one to my partner in life also. He has been amazing through our 42 years, especially as a parent.