So, I’m up at the butt crack of dawn. The fact that I—a girl who usually requires a solid 9 hours of sleep and hates to do anything before mainlining her coffee—am up before the sun is is just, well, weird. The sun, apparently knows better than me. Weirder still that I wake up at 5am and think “I should probably get up and get some work done.” Not only do I think it, I do it.
Good god. I have gone mainstream.
I just have so much to do! All the time! It never stops! And the things that I get paid to do? Well, they’re fun! And I get paid! But, dudes. It’s really hard. In fact, life is hard. I’m talking, super hard. Although, to steal a quote from my good friend, Erica, it’s totally first world hard, which means basically that I can’t find a sitter for the boys. God, I am such a jerk.
Really, though. Being a working mother is really freaking hard. It’s hard to know where to begin, really. First though, I want to know why none of you told me! How come women have gone through life never being like “WHATEVER YOU DO! DON”T PROCREATE! IT’S REALLY FUCKING HARD!” Or, in this case, “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! WORKING AND BEING A MOM AT THE SAME TIME IS HARDER THAN PUTTING YOUR FIRST TAMPON IN!” I’ve been working since the boys were little, but as a massage therapist, which means that I worked 8 hours a week when it was convenient to me. I took most of the first couple of years off with the kids, and got hella lazy professionally. I see now though, that like a squirrel hoarding the nuts, I was subconsciously storing my drive to work and earn. And now, the floodgates have opened.
I mean, good god! I’m up and blogging at 6am! What is wrong with me? I’ve been so busy lately that I actually had to schedule time to write a post, for I fear that if I don’t, I will just stop writing, which would make the sunshine disappear, and a single tear drip down the faces of people everywhere. So, basically, this is a forced post, so as to avoid the entire world becoming depressed. Sort of like verbal constipation. Mostly I just wanted to use the word constipation.
I don’t have time to go to the grocery store! Or clean my house! I used to say that my house was “hippie clean,” but now it’s more lik “homeless clean.” So, don’t like my floor, K? Actually, I would rather you lick my floor than my shower. Definitely don’t lick that. Sheesh. It’s so bizarre to be so busy and happy at the same time. Then there is the added oddness (those two words together make my eyes cross) of being in a position where people believe that you can do things that you don’t even believe you can do. That’s something I am trying to get used to.
Yet, what’s hardest for me is the great imbalance between the genders. When my husband has to go to work, he gets up, proceeds to spend 27.6 minutes doing god knows what in the shower (not exaggerating) [totally exaggerating -ed.], gets ready, and walks out the door. Don’t get me wrong. He helps me out in the morning and everything, it isn’t that he is a dick. It’s about how simple it is for him to go to work. The things expected of him are, really, quite minimal. He is the known breadwinner, therefore he goes forth to make the . . . er . . . bread. The process for me is a little different, and involves the hiring of many, many babysitters. And if I thought I was spinning plates before? Well, holy Moses. Now I’m spinning plates with my hands and feet, while also cooking dinner.
When I jump in the shower, I usually do it so fast that I bang into something and get a bruise. And then the children sense that I am in the shower and come forth to ask me to do things for them that are completely unreasonable, considering I am both naked and wet. (You want a picture of that, don’t you?) My showers last approximately 2.6 minutes, and in that time I not only manage to shower, but I also decide what I am going to wear, remember what things I need to do that day, and make a mental note of all the people that I need to call. The things I do while at home are never just those things. They are done while also doing 3 things at the exact same time. And again, I do them so fast, they usually end in an injury.
So, I don’t know. It’s funny. This new job sort of crept up on me, and has been sort of miraculous. It isn’t single-handedly responsibly for the busy, either. It’s life, it’s how it is. And then you have me, and the nature of . . . well . . . me. Two jobs, two kids, mandatory volunteering at their school, a house, a refrigerator that occasionally needs food in it, and you know what? I still decide to run for President of the Board at my kids’ school. Why? Well, I’ll tell you the long why in a different post, but I can assure you that it has something to do with the fact that I am insane.
But too busy to care.