I love my girls with all my heart and soul, but there are times when they wear on the delicate fabric of my nerves and I want to get in my car with no particular destination in mind and listen to AC/DC and drive with the windows rolled down and smoke a cigarette (and I don’t even smoke). Then I feel guilty because they wear on my nerves.
Last week was a bit more guilt-laden as I started going back into the office and the baby started daycare with big sister. I had a marvelous hour-long lunch break last Tuesday ALL BY MYSELF LIKE A BIG GIRL running errands only to see every flawlessly cute and well-accessorized stay-at-home mom within a 50-mile radius out shopping with her adorable spit-up free baby (no stay at home mom I know looks that pulled together at 11:30 a.m. on a weekday…who are these women?) A co-worker and fellow mom reminded me that our office is located in the SAHM capital of our fair city, a boutique suburb where the average per household income is definitely in the Lexus end of the spectrum. But I enjoy working. I am proud of my career. I enjoy interacting with adults and completing projects that have absolutely nada to do with my kids. I am also proud to be a mom and I treasure the weekends with my family. The hubby usually works Saturdays until 4 which means I am home with both girls all day and I am home with the baby all day on Fridays. In the spring and summer we spend lots of time outside, but winter is a different story when runny noses and freezing temperatures often mean we are homebound. I then find myself COUNTING THE NANOSECONDS until the hubby gets home. It’s at those times when my finest parenting moments fall by the wayside. You want to watch Dora help the blue cow with the nose ring again? GO AHEAD. You want another animal cracker with a side of marshmallows? KNOCK YOURSELF OUT. You want to drag every stuffed animal and doll you own into the den? HOW INVENTIVE.
Saturday at 3:30, t-minus 30 minutes until the close of hubby’s work day, the baby was whiney, clingy and fighting a nap with every corpuscle of her tubby 10-month-old body. She was also on day 3 of a bad cold. Big sister then dropped her pants and announced, “Oh Mommy, I’ve got a little diarrhea.”
It was at that point I instant messaged the hubby on my laptop:
“Hey! (Upbeat, but not too upbeat.)
“We’re getting a little cabin feverish here.” I punctuated it with a goofy smiley face emoticon to temper the desperation.
Translation: Please hurry home before I go loony and bring a bottle of wine.