I am home alone with the kids a lot, and some days I don’t have time to wait for them to take a nap so I can have a bath in peace. The other day, I was having a typical shower (in this particular case, I was shampooing my hair while wrestling a toilet brush out of the baby’s hand and watching my oldest dance around my tiny washroom chanting “I have to go peeee!!”), when I started a mental list of all of the crap I do that my husband would never dream of – showering with the kids in the room, for instance.
Or peeing with the door open so I can hear the kids if they need me.
Or pooping with a screaming kid in my lap.
Or pumping milk at 4am (while bawling my eyes out).
Or waking up in the middle of the night to let a wailing kid suck on my boobs.
Or cradling a baby while she pukes in my hair.
Or sleeping with a sick child.
Or pushing a 6 lb 12 oz baby out of my hoo ha.
I realize that all of these “mom duties” I perform are things I have chosen to do (or have to do, based on biology). My decision to bathe/pee/what-have-you when the kids are awake, the fact that I have breasts, and my choice to let Butterbean crawl into bed with me, are not Chase’s fault. I take ownership of that.
And yet… And yet, sometimes (all the time), I can’t help but feel that this mom gig is unjust. Especially when I am naked and sleep deprived and Sprout is trying to lick the plunger and all I want is a quiet, uneventful shower. In those moments, confident that he will never know the depth of my pain and frustration, I hate my hubby a tiny little bit for having it so good.
26 Steps Update
Going forward, I’m going to post about 26 Easy Steps every two weeks, rather than every week. These mini-schemes don’t warrant three journal entries when a final update would be sufficient; it’s boring for me to write, and boring for you to read.
Please note: this decision has nothing to do with the fact that I’ve been failing at my resolution to do pilates 3 times a week. Siiiigh. This week, I swear I’ll be good!