It occurs to me that I have spent a good deal of the summer thus far complaining, whining and/or bitching about how hard it is to be a full-time stay-at-home parent of two small children. And it is. And I have.
It is mind-numbing, back-breaking, completely defeating and just really fucking hard. (Allow me the liberty to swear here as I try not to do it around the children...Try, anyway). Our big parent bodies are sore and bruised and broken from the work of it. Our minds are as mushy as our bodies, our thoughts often incoherent. It is impossible to hold conversations with friends about anything but the children and how challenging they are, especially if we've been granted a few hours of freedom and a few beers... Sorry about that.
Being stuck so far into the middle of the "baby tunnel" that we cannot yet see the light at the end may be socially debilitating, but it is also wonderful, amazing, beautiful, full of love and happiness, unabashed joy, sloppy baby kisses and gigantic hugs for no reason at all. We sometimes sit on the floor and just play with the babies and stare at each other with amusement and awe at how lucky we are. Our kids are healthy, happy and bright. We laugh every day. We've gotten just what we wanted. We're happy, actually! Really!
We're just tired. And, we knew it'd be hard, we were fully aware of what we were getting ourselves into... although that knowledge doesn't really in any way prepare you for the grinding reality... Oy.
I now fully understand that glazed-over and vacant look that some parents get when their child is crying/yelling/screaming in public. I used to think, why isn't that mom doing anything about her kid?! Wow. I get it now. It's because this is the millionth time she's fought the same fight, possibly just today, and she hasn't slept in weeks and there was no fucking way she was going to cook and so they are at this restaurant anyway and she is going to drink the beer that is in front of her and she doesn't give a fuck that her kid is screaming about her Elmo doll right now because she deserves that beer, goddammit, and so she's going to just tune it out and stare at the TV and drink that beer and fuck you for judging her, the end.
So, yeah, we're doing just fine despite the whining and the bitching. The luxury of being able to spend all day, every day with my babies is mostly blissful. I get to eat graham crackers and play pretend and go for walks and play at the park and cook yummy things and am rewarded daily with hugs and giggles and snuggles and kisses. Which is so much better than bitching about back-stabbing office politics and shitty bosses. Around here, the bosses are just occasionally poopy, and that's pretty easily cleaned up.
2 comments:
Can you tell that I'm usually both envious AND relieved beyond words when I see you with your children? I remember, get tear-y eyed sometimes, but I wouldn't care to do it again, thank you. My kids were great kids, and we had a great time. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that life seems like one great big, minute-to-minute party now that they are grown-up mostly buddies who only very occasionally need a bit of parental assistance (but, as Ken would quickly point, sometimes they buy the beer!).
I miss those little people painfully sometimes, and I'm so glad I took so much time with them when they were around. I see glimpses of them in the amazing adults they are now, and that helps. The light at the end of the tunnel may be a pin prick, but it's moving faster than sound towards you: It so good that you are hanging on to the moments now, even the bitchy ones.
I love this post. Thank you for saying everything I feel.
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