I can't tell you how irritated I get when people attempt to camouflage their blatant effort to marginalize and insult me with feigned envy. Give me a fucking break. I am not an idiot. If, however, you think that being a stay at home parent, one with three children, no less, is a cake walk, you have another thing coming. The next time you think to yourself or say out loud to friend or relative that is a stay at home parent, "It must be nice to not have to work." or "I wish I could just sit home all day and do nothing, like you.", do me a favor and punch yourself in the face. Let me walk you through a typical day of this stay at home mom:
1)When I wake up in the morning, I feel NOTHING like P. Diddy, unless Diddy is used to being gently waken by the shrill, unwavering sounds of a two year old yelling “MOM! MOM! MOM!”, demanding to be released from his crib at 7:30 AM. Most of the time, when I walk in to release my pudgy alarm clock from his bed cage, I am slapped in the face with the overwhelming aroma of the good morning gift he has provided for me in his pants. On a couple of occasions, he has gone that extra mile to wish me a happy day by removing his diaper and painting me a beautiful shit mural.
2)By the time I have him up and changed, the other two are up and are already fighting over breakfast or television or chairs or who is going to get what bowl. I can ignore them for a little while but, eventually, their bickering penetrates my ignore field and I have to intervene and referee just before or by the time it comes to blows.
3) I think about doing laundry.
4)I have to stop the older two children, at least 22 times, from killing each other over whether or not purple is better than green
5)I become convinced that the youngest must have some sort of intestinal disorder because I do not remember either of the other ones shitting as often as he does on a daily basis. Seriously. He should not weigh this much, given his output rate.
6)I decide to do laundry and as I am heading into the laundry room, I hear a blood curdling scream and must promptly redirect my attention to peeling the youngest off of his older brother’s head, who is apparently paying the price for riding his younger brother’s alphabet choo-choo.
7)At least 10 times a day, I have to figure out why the youngest has suddenly fallen to his knees, screaming, as tears stream down his face in the middle of the living room. It usually ends up having to do with one of the older ones having the audacity to expect him to share his crackers, popcorn, cereal or whatever other snack he is in possession of at that moment.
8) I think about doing laundry but decide I will do it later because the kids are being quiet and I want to enjoy the peace.
9) I discover they are being quiet because they have found a pack of red kool-aid and are eating it like fruit-dip with their fingers, huddled in the pantry and that kind of discretion requires a lot of quiet concentration. My children and my floor are blood red. It comes off the floor with bleach spray and an entire roll of paper towels. The children are a different story.
10) I get the kitchen clean and in the time it takes me to put the the floor towel in the laundry room and walk back to the kitchen, it is already a disaster. The same goes for every other fucking room in the house.
11) I give up. Fuck laundry too. I decide I’m going to throw all the fucking clothes away and just start over with everyone’s wardrobes.
12) The little one has shit his pants, AGAIN!
13) The dogs have scavenged the last shitty diaper out of the trash and have made it their afternoon snack in my formal dining room.
14) Well, shit! It is almost time for my husband to be home. I think about making dinner.
15) I see the little one hunched down in the living room with his face squinched into that very familiar “I am taking a shit” expression.
16) Fuck dinner. They can eat cereal.
17) I hear a chorus of yelling, screaming and crying and find all three children embattled into a full on brawl over the last fruit roll up. To solve the problem, I take it and cram it in my mouth. Now, rather than being angry and hateful with one another, they are united in their hatred of me. That’s just called good fucking parenting/problem solving skills.
My day is filled with fights, tears and I am up to my elbows in toddler shit. I may, one day, come and write another day in the life but, next time, I will outline a day when vomit and diarrhea with the older kids has been thrown into the mix. Those are more fun. I bet you will wish you had my life then, for sure!
You get to interact with other adults. Unless you consider answering Nina’s questions as she introduces new cartoons on the Sprout channel as adult interaction, I don’t get a whole lot of that during the day. You get to take breaks. I can get 20 minutes of quiet but it requires me to watch Caillou or Peppa Pig, so I wouldn’t really call it a break. My kids just will not take an interest in whether or not Maury’s guest, Jessica, finds her baby’s daddy among the 7 men she brought to the show to be tested. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to get them invested in her story. You can call in sick if necessary. It doesn’t matter if I have a cold, if I am vomiting or if I have kidney stones. My kids are tyrant bosses and refuse to grant me any time off. You get to clock out. I don’t. I don’t even get a change of scenery.
Although my children are slave driving bosses. I wouldn’t change it for anything. Is it easy? Hell no. It is the most thankless job I have ever had (and, believe me, I have had a LOT of jobs). I won’t get any bonuses. There is no Christmas party with awesome door prizes. No one asks if I had a good day or bad day “at the office”. There are no health benefits or vacation time or sick days. There is no promotion opportunities and no one is giving me a paycheck. I am not going to be a fucking martyr by claiming it is the hardest job in the world. It isn’t. It can be frustrating, it can be stressful, it can be overwhelming, it can be sooo mundane but I find it nothing short of rewarding, however, don’t you dare look me in the eye and dismiss my contribution to society as invalid or effortless by insinuating or blatantly stating that I sit on my ass all day and cram peanut butter cups in my face, while watching soap operas. Most people that think that wouldn’t make it a day in my shoes.