The bulk of my posts, as with most “mommy blogs,” are centered around all of the things I am experiencing–good, bad, and ugly– in motherhood. The giggles, the boo boos and kisses on boo boos, the bedtime stories, the “firsts,” the muddy puddles followed by bubbly baths, and lots of lessons along the way. All that “most rewarding work” stuff. But as I was driving in the rain today, practically begging my two-year-old to stop saying “mommy” and just go to sleep, I was thinking of the things I used to enjoy about my life before I changed my name to “mommy.” I kind of feel guilty about thinking this way, especially now that he’s asleep and the house is quiet… and the last thing he probably heard me say to him before passing out was, “Baby, please stop talking to me.” But let’s be real here for a minute… I adore my child and wouldn’t trade him, BUT— I sometimes dearly miss some privileges and freedoms I took for granted in my pre-motherhood days.
Going to bed and waking up whenever I please, all summer long.
Not having dinner on the table till 8pm some nights.
Randomly deciding to make it a beach/pool day… with a towel, a water bottle, and a magazine.
Eating out without regard to whether the restaurant serves chicken fingers.
Using the toilet in peace. And not worrying about anyone’s poop but my own.
Having my own drink. Without crumbs or backspit in it.
Being gone for the day without carrying a bag the size of Rhode Island.
Sneezing twice without tinkling a little.
Making my spaghetti sauce spicy.
Enjoying an after-dinner cigarette.
Wearing a 4. And a bikini.
Having mani/pedi/sushi money.
Having zero knowledge of Wow Wow Wubbzy.
Having a cell phone actually survive till my contract renewal date.
Ordering pizza with mushrooms, onions, and olives. And eating it in peace.
Never missing a home football game.
Not watching my language.
Not sharing my dessert. Or my shower.
Not spontaneously feeling the need to cause bodily harm when the phone rings past 9PM.
Not having toys in my kitchen.
Not having “Polly Wolly Doodle All Day” in my head… all day.
Not constantly worrying if I’m doing it right… or scarring him for life.
All that being said, and even being super-annoyed that Zac is here in my bed, fidgety and chatty at 10:54 PM– (Honestly, why does he move so much?)– he just leaned up and kissed my arm. And said “Thank you.” (Tink you.) I don’t even know what for, or if he even knows why he just said that. Perhaps (‘Tink you for not killing me 2 hours ago when I got out of bed for the tenteenth time?’) But it was a good choice. And I’m like Awwwwww…. Okay. Hot showers and peaceful meals are overrated. I’m pretty sure being Zac’s best friend feels better than being skinny and sane anyway. I think.
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