Living Off the Crumbs
Why is it that mothers are expected to live off of life’s crumbs and feel one hundred percent satisfied?
Breastfeeding leaves our boobs pointing to the floor. Pregnancy leaves us with enough extra skin to make rain ponchos. Then we spend the next twenty years trying to create successful human beings and not lose our minds.
Men are told to go for it. New job that means you are far less available for your family? Go for it! Younger hotter wife that will wait naked on the dining room table every night? Go for it! Expensive sports car, bowflex home gym, fishing boat or snowmobile? Go for it! You’re a man son… take what you need. Go forth and leave your mark in the world! Don’t worry — your woman will keep everything running smoothly while you’re gone (unless you left her for the young hot chick. She’ll just get sick of you and find another stud. Unless you have oodles of money. Then she’ll just sleep with the pool boy and run up your credit cards).
In what parallel universe can a woman get away with that? More importantly, how do you get there? Women have to be good. Six eggs in the carton for breakfast? Well, Johnny needs at least two and Suzy wants hers scrambled, so I hope you’re happy with toast. If you forgot to run out and pick up an extra loaf of bread, then plan on licking the crumbs up off the plates that will be left on the table for you to wash up. It’s okay, you wanted to lose weight anyhow. Thinking of pursuing a hobby? Listen here Missy, that’s just fine with everyone else, so long as it doesn’t cost much, doesn’t interfere with the kids school/karate/homework, keeping the house clean, getting the laundry done, and there’s plenty of food in the house (which of course means you have to make it before you head off. Even if it’s peanut butter and jelly).
It isn’t that you can’t have your hobby, you just have to jump fifty hurdles before you can start. Even when it’s a health issue, like exercise, we women have to squeeze it in when we can. For me (and a few other ladies I know) that means getting up between 4:30 and 5:00. That’s A.M. people. Before the rooster crows.
Don’t even get me started on sleep. At my house, I can’t even get sick. Let me rephrase that. At my house, if I get sick, I have to go into work. Why? I have no sick time. Every last drop gets used up to care for everybody else when they’re sick. Let’s just say that the makers of Theraflu get whatever money is left after the grocery store takes their weekly cut.
I love my life. I just want it to be more about me and less about how I keep everyone else afloat. In my perfect world we rotate who goes to the grocery store, I’m not the only person that clips the dogs nails and cleans the litter box, and once in a while somebody makes me eggs (sunny side up with two strips of bacon and whole wheat toast please).
I’m just tired of gobbling up the crumbs. If you happen to be one of those women that says they love every single second of being a wife/mother I’m calling you out right now. You’re either lying or getting paid big money by some conservative values group to pretend.
If you’re getting paid, could you pass along the info on where to sign up? I’d say anything for some extra cash…
I am a mother of five rotten, stinking, no good very bad children, three equally terrible dogs & a cat that has perfected the art of projectile vomiting. All the aforementioned have made it their life mission to drive me over the edge into insanity land. (I’m also a wife & a writer, not necessarily in that order.)I poke fun because I can.