In Need of a Chainsaw
I have realized that my life would be a hell of a lot easier if there were two of me.
Wow. That seems so obvious. I could be so efficient. I could do twice as much laundry.
But, what I started to come to understand is that on days when the going gets rough, I could really use a metaphysical chainsaw to slice myself into two beings: one who will lovingly care for my kids and the other who will get a pedicure, shop for handbags and have a long lunch at a restaurant with tablecloths.
‘Cuz here’s the lowdown: I love my kids. I also love not being asked 43 times in a day about Super Mario Brothers and Thomas the Tank Engine. Some days I feel a little run down. And maybe I cry a little. Or a whole lot. But, when I get a little time to myself, one of two things typically happens: either I completely waste it by doing absolutely nothing of any value whatsoever, or I spend it wondering what my precious babies are doing, smiling longingly at every beautiful child who passes me at the mall.
So, it would really be great if there were two of me – not so I could be Supermom and start baking more or inventing cool crafts that involve pipecleaners and homemade slime – but so that one of me could chill the fuck out somewhere, maybe read a book, go tanning, or visit a friend, while the other joyfully absorbs the peace and tranquility radiating from the other’s blissful calm and is able to appreciate every fabulous moment with a couple of terrific little boys.
I decided when founding Off Duty Mom that I was going to be honest about the good, the bad and the ugly. So, let me go ahead now and tell you where my chainsaw thoughts are coming from.
The other day, when I pulled my car into my garage after a long day of trying to educate the very unwilling youth of America, I turned off the ignition and just sat there. For a good, solid five minutes or so. I just sat. I couldn’t bring myself to get out of the car. I didn’t want to go inside my house. I knew that as soon as I did, two children would be bouncing and running and yelling and tossing toys everywhere. My car was so quiet. I had a very difficult time walking away from that quiet.
I felt pretty shitty. The guilt was significant. What kind of mother leaves her babies all day and then isn’t running into the house at the first chance that she gets to see and spend any quality time with them?
And, I felt crapilicious about it.
A good mom, I told myself, is thrilled to come home and wrap her arms around her children. And then I cried.
But, I pulled my shit together and came into the house. My kids ran up to me and yelled, “Mommy!” and hugged and kissed me. It felt so good. But, it didn’t change the fact that I was so tired. So. Very. Tired.
But yet, I played and I cooked and I sang and I rocked and I bathed and I brushed and I read. It was lovely. And exhausting after an already long day.
I thought again about how I’d love to split into two so that one of me could go get a massage.
Now, I have a pretty terrific husband who gives me time to do the things I need to do. I have regular chiropractor appointments and stuff. But, things would be a heck of a lot cooler with another “me” around, anyway. And, since I am so lovable and adorable, I am sure my husband would agree that two of “me” would be pretty sweet.
But, I suppose that like money and time, if I had extra “me” around, I would probably just waste it. That lazy bitch would probably just take naps, eat BBQ Pringles and watch SVU repeats all the damn time, anyway.
I wish someone would have warned me that parenting was going to be this hard. Spread the word, people: parenthood makes you think about chainsaws.
This has been a public service announcement sponsored by the marginally insane. Thanks for listening.