I am a working mother of 3, who has never made it to story time. I leave my children in the care of grandmas and daycare and kindergarten teachers. I feel like I suck today.
I can juggle coffee, an umbrella, two bags and a 3 year old, and wrangle them all into the car without spilling anything on myself. I pawn off doctor's visits on others, so that I can save my sick time for the days I have no back-up, which happens quite alot. In fact, I really haven't had sick time at work in 3 years. I usually go to work when I myself am ill so that I can save my time for when my kids need me.
I do it all without a nanny, a chef, a personal trainer, or a housekeeper. I feel the need to interject this monologue with a statement that I don't dislike people with housekeepers or nannies, I just wish I were you.
I'm a Type A minus personality, which annoys me that I can't be perfect. I'm an overachiever who makes her sister hate her at times because I strive to be the best at everything. And that actually comes naturally at times. I'm apparently full of myself as well.
I refer back to a movie line - there are 24 usable hours in a day - and I wish it were true. I wish I could jump out of bed when my alarm goes off at 5 a.m. like my husband does. Alright, he doesn't actually jump - he is rather slow-moving most of the time, but he does get right up.
I probably will never take all three kids grocery shopping on a Monday morning. Although part of me is not too sad about that one. In fact, I still get anxiety when even contemplating taking all three of them to Target on a Saturday. I wish they would all hold hands and walk beside me, instead of turning into creatures who feel this is the first time they've been let loose from their cages.
I consider sleeping in to not have to get out of bed at 6 a.m. on a Satruday, although that doesn't mean I get to sleep until then - since random children occupy my mattress, and someone's pull-up leaked, another kid is hungry and running around downstairs fighting with his father over eating in front of the tv.
I'm sad to be selling all my baby stuff this weekend. I'm sad that I had to leave my babies when they were little and go to work so that we could pay the bills and live in our not-very-big house that doesn't have enough bedrooms or space for toys. I wish we had a playroom with a door I could shut, so that I wouldn't have to stoop down and pick up 18 million mega-blocks each night. I wish my kids would listen to me when I tell them, then yell at them to put their toys away. I wish I didn't have to yell.
I have a million things floating around in my head, formed into a never-ending to do list that starts with "more coffee" and includes things that only matter to me. I wish so many things didn't matter to me. I wish I could have a date night with my husband. I wish instead of writing this I was at home, curled up on the couch with my lovelies watching Disney Junior instead of sitting at this desk, ready to start my day and wondering what my children are up to.
I can juggle coffee, an umbrella, two bags and a 3 year old, and wrangle them all into the car without spilling anything on myself. I pawn off doctor's visits on others, so that I can save my sick time for the days I have no back-up, which happens quite alot. In fact, I really haven't had sick time at work in 3 years. I usually go to work when I myself am ill so that I can save my time for when my kids need me.
I do it all without a nanny, a chef, a personal trainer, or a housekeeper. I feel the need to interject this monologue with a statement that I don't dislike people with housekeepers or nannies, I just wish I were you.
I'm a Type A minus personality, which annoys me that I can't be perfect. I'm an overachiever who makes her sister hate her at times because I strive to be the best at everything. And that actually comes naturally at times. I'm apparently full of myself as well.
I refer back to a movie line - there are 24 usable hours in a day - and I wish it were true. I wish I could jump out of bed when my alarm goes off at 5 a.m. like my husband does. Alright, he doesn't actually jump - he is rather slow-moving most of the time, but he does get right up.
I probably will never take all three kids grocery shopping on a Monday morning. Although part of me is not too sad about that one. In fact, I still get anxiety when even contemplating taking all three of them to Target on a Saturday. I wish they would all hold hands and walk beside me, instead of turning into creatures who feel this is the first time they've been let loose from their cages.
I consider sleeping in to not have to get out of bed at 6 a.m. on a Satruday, although that doesn't mean I get to sleep until then - since random children occupy my mattress, and someone's pull-up leaked, another kid is hungry and running around downstairs fighting with his father over eating in front of the tv.
I'm sad to be selling all my baby stuff this weekend. I'm sad that I had to leave my babies when they were little and go to work so that we could pay the bills and live in our not-very-big house that doesn't have enough bedrooms or space for toys. I wish we had a playroom with a door I could shut, so that I wouldn't have to stoop down and pick up 18 million mega-blocks each night. I wish my kids would listen to me when I tell them, then yell at them to put their toys away. I wish I didn't have to yell.
I have a million things floating around in my head, formed into a never-ending to do list that starts with "more coffee" and includes things that only matter to me. I wish so many things didn't matter to me. I wish I could have a date night with my husband. I wish instead of writing this I was at home, curled up on the couch with my lovelies watching Disney Junior instead of sitting at this desk, ready to start my day and wondering what my children are up to.
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