Sorry I haven't written in a while. It's not you, it's me. Being a mommy means no more time for yourself- roughly speaking. You DO get some time off, after bed time. But for me, this means you work from 8-4:30 and during THAT time, you do your work, but also your HOME paperwork (coupon clipping, meal planning, sending thank you notes, arranging and planning events and vacations, etc. Along with any kind of church work, lesson planning, fundraisers, etc.)
After work you go get your son, which is really the highlight of the entire day. You stand and chat with your mom for a bit while your son finishes his "afternoon routine" with his Grandpa (riding around in his little car and swinging on the swing). And around the third time of, "We REALLY have to go!" You load 'em up and head 'em out.
You come home from work at 5:30, son in tow, and two nights a week you jump right back into working mode so you can teach violin for another few hours. Monday nights are your more advanced students, Wednesday nights are your...less advanced.
You starting thinking about supper. Sure, you got your meat out ahead of time, but to actually make it, baby on your hip, usually requires a trip to the store either on your way or on your husband's way home. But usually it's just easier to drop what you're doing and go than to listen to the grumbling on the other line. Have you ever tried to cook with a wee one with you? Everything takes twice as long.
Your husband comes in from work, and you try desperately to hand the baby off to him. "Please, honey, I JUST have to dump the potatoes in the strainer, please hold him." He mentions about how much he has to poop and goes off to take care of business. The baby gets placed on the floor. The baby screams. You try putting the baby in another room and then running away so that it takes JUST long enough for him to get to you that you can finish pouring out the potatoes, dumping the sauce, taking the veggies off the stove and plating everything before you feel his little vice grip on your pants.
We eat supper in front of the TV. So shoot me. Out table is usually too full of stuff to eat at it, and I sometimes like to have my feet up. Is it the way I'd like it? No. Will it be this way when Liam is older? No. But for now, it's how we do things. I will be taking no further questions.
Husband is done with his business and you hold out the baby to him, inquiring, "Daddy, my panties are dirty. Can you change them?" To which daddy replies, "Daddy's beat, Liam, have mommy change them for you."
Being the mom automatically makes you the responsible one. Instantly, you're the designated driver, the grocery shopper, the meal planner, the packer, the planner, the appointment maker. If it were not for you, literally NOTHING would get done. As soon as my husband's bottom hits his chair, his off switch is starting to engage. I bring him his food, most nights, and he has already started to scold Liam for getting into the DVD collection. I put Liam in his high chair and get him HIS food, and then I sit down to pick at my food. Of course it's disgusting because I just played in it for 30 minutes, and so I want nothing to do with it. Cereal looks better. I'll have that.
Supper dishes, wash, making beds, cleaning the cat box. Husband says he is woozy, he's going to go back to sitting down. Maybe he'll tackle the banking later.
Scrubbing the bathroom, picking up socks, watering the flowers I planted. Husband is snoring in his chair. What a long day he must have had.
Cleaning Liam up, new diaper, full bottle, clean onsie for night time, kiss daddy. Off to bed. Husband thinks he'll start banking in a little bit.
Pick up Kix off the floor, pick up Liam's toys, turn off the lights, sit on the sofa with my crocheting and check the time. Exhausted. Head up to bed. I think the husband really is going to start the banking now.
Play a few games on my phone, fall asleep, receive text that he's going to do the banking another night. Fall back to sleep again. Barely hear husband coming up the steps and getting into bed. No sex tonight, folks. That's the thing- if you want some lovin' you've got to come to bed. I can't be expected to stay up until you decide to mosey on in.
And THIS is why I haven't written. Too many irons in the fire, too many responsibilities, too much to do and no time to do it in. I just left out this extreme yawn as I was typing.
I had a doe-eyed, newly wedded, fitness trainer friend inquire how I was doing "Since having the baby." I knew what she was getting at. "I'm busy." I told her. "My life is non stop right now. I'm busy being a mommy and a wife and working and I'm exhausted." She cheerfully replied, "But, but what about exercise...?" But what about SHUT YOUR FACE? No, I didn't write that back- but I was tempted. But then I think I fell asleep.