| Dena Blizzard Motherhood, it starts so lovely. There is a party with cake and favors and pink balloons. Then someone comes up with a dumb game about nursery rhymes or the colors of baby poop and your closest family and friends “oooh” and “ahhh” over the sweetest baby clothes you’ve ever seen. (Of course, they are only there because you went to their baby shower and they don’t want to be talked about at the next family reunion or office party. It’s called Mommy payback, which is similar to the “an eye for an eye” concept but it’s “a present for a present” thing. And we keep track.) Next comes childbirth, which is kind of gross but beautiful and then…voila, you’re in the club. No fees, no by-laws and no training. The great thing about it is that there are books, magazines, and blogs all dedicated to understanding motherhood. They talk about how to be a better mom, a less guilty mom, a time-saving mom and mom with a tighter butt.  But where are the articles that EXPLAIN being a mom? The ones that could translate what we really want and don’t want from life. I mean, there are millions of articles explaining the misconceptions of marriage but where are the ones that says it’s okay to not like making dinner every night until you die? Where does it say that’s it’s okay to not find your life’s meaning or purpose in doing 3 loads of laundry a day and loading dish after dish into the never ending water box next to your sink?
I want my kids to understand me. I want men to accept me. I love being a mother to my kids but that doesn’t mean I love serving them, that I yearn for them to soil clothing throughout the week for my big 10-load payoff by the weekend, or that I secretly love putting them to bed while screaming “teeth, pajamas and bedtime!” at the top of my lungs for an hour while I toil over the carnage left from dinner. My Top Misconceptions of Motherhood
(In no particular order, besides the fact that these bother me the most.)
1. We like to hold things. Everything, really. I can be anywhere and my children seem to think that I need to hold things. Bags, used gum, sparkly Dixie cups in the shape of a heart, baseball glove, half eaten hot dogs, jock straps, used tissues, or broccoli that doesn’t taste good. Anything. The more the better. I’m not happy unless the weight of things in my arms can somehow counterbalance the weight of my growing rear, because as soon as I get home I’m eating a Danish. Why? Because I’m a human hanger and I yearn for more.
2. We like kids. People think that because I “have” kids that I “like” kids. No. I don’t. I like mine but that’s about it. And the only reason I can really stand mine is because when they were little they were cute and grew on me. Like puppies. I don’t know other peoples kids. I have never seen them be cute or say nonsensical gibberish that I will somehow translate into “I love you mom—more than dad”. We eat that crap up. To me your kid just seems annoying. And dirty. Why do... |
