I confess that I am a wimpy mom. I don’t homeschool, and am in fact terrified of the idea. I prefer to pay $2.35 for “hot lunch” at school while my version of “cold lunch” is a strict diet of peanut butter and jelly. Cake mixes are still a lot of work. And if you could hear my thoughts, you’d hear a different word to fill the sentence, “I need a ___________ (break, coffee, date, vacation, cookie, nanny, maid)”… every fifteen minutes. Oh, and I reckon that I’ve surpassed the socially excusable TV-watching limits because it’s not only on during sick days.
I’m a wimp. I can’t possibly fathom having the blessed third child—or more—and I’m ready to clock out by 4pm daily. My heart can’t handle any more heart races from messes and tantrums and sharing squabbles. My doctor may know me for my low blood pressure, but I’m pretty sure that my heart has a Hyde on the flip-side of its Jekyll side.
Whenever my husband tries to understand how I’ve become the weary mess he finds in the evening, I have little to point him to. No one needed stitches, no one is currently swinging from the chandelier… the day was pretty routine. I even had forty minutes “to myself.” All I have to whine about are hiccups, hangups, and the even flow of needs these little humans have. I blame my introverted-ness. I blame the weather. I blame my menstrual cycle. But they’re all excuses, factors at best.
The truth is that I’m a lightweight. I guess I can only absorb so much. So much drama, so much neediness, so many spills, so many corrections, so many potty cleanings… until mom is waving a white flag. I’m the lightweight mom that’ll fall into your every trap that claims to help take the edge off. Have a play place? I’m there. Is it free? Yes. Is there a crappy toy included that will hold their attention for a maximum of ten minutes? I’ll take it! Got a blog post about curbing your enthusiasm/anger/motivation/correction? Tell me alllllll your secrets.
And when the day is done and they’re tucked in bed—after milk spills, puddles of soapy water, and peace treaties over bedtime reads—my husband and I close the door and exhale. We exchange a grin and an eye roll. And we each take a long potty break of our own. We catch up on text messages and social media. And when we come together, we tell each other the funny things that were overheard from their conversations. We show off cute pictures we took with our phones.
I reflect and ponder why I spent so much of the day on survival mode… working towards the next appointment, meal, nap or coffee break. What wore me out? I wonder. Why was I so mad about that? I ask myself.
And I just think that this mom can barely keep up with processing all that happens within an hour. Attitudes shift, emotions leap and nose dive, blood sugar levels fluctuate, and circumstances change. Within an hour. I realize that I’m so very, very human. Sometimes being human means knowing all the right things to think and do, but feeling constricted to the feeble flesh you’re made of.
And you come to terms with being a lightweight.
And you reckon you may just have it in you to take on more responsibilities. And you’ll likely rise to the occasion when that time comes. Because that’s what fragile, beautiful, unknowingly-strong moms do.
But you won’t recognize that right now. For now, you’ll take the path of least resistance with its DVDs, artificial food coloring, and frozen dinners. You’ll find solace in resonating with similarly drained parents while laughing over your secret lazy parenting hacks.
And you’ll find peace in admitting that you’re a wimpy mom.
At least until you’re beckoned back to the thick of it. At 7am. Tomorrow morning.
I’m here with you, mom,
A
