Steel dreams
The novelty of being a stay-at-home mom is really starting to wear off. At first I sparkled with the possibilities of a stress-free life, keeping the apartment clean, hot meals for the family every night, and plenty of quality-time with my baby. I imagined I'd have all the time in the world to write, perfect my salsa recipe, and exercise, too. And keep up with the laundry, drop off and pick up dry cleaning, manage doctors appointments, shop for groceries...
What was I thinking?!
The life of a stay-at-home mom is no picnic, and I apologize to all of you ladies whom I ever looked upon with envy or disdain. Even with the support of my Skokie Girls, I desperately crave adult companionship - without an 18 month old on my hip. One of the hardest things about this whole experience has been my lack of a social life. My husband studies late into the nights, so after I put the kids down, I'm on my own. I usually fold laundry, wash dishes, toodle around on the internet, or go to sleep. My husband and I haven't had a date since my mom came to town in August. I've been trying desperately all week to find a babysitter, but the teenagers are busy this time of year. I'm 0 for 5 so far.
I love my children. I adore their smiles, laughs, songs, and thousands of questions while I'm driving, preparing supper, checking my email, and going to the bathroom. They need constant attention; and the more I need to be inside my head, the more they need to be in there with me. By the time I've put them to bed, I'm too tired to think.
My baby was sick this week. She had a gooey nose and a low fever for a few days. She spent the week glued with sweat to my shoulder. She didn't want to eat or play - she just wanted mommy, mommy, mommy. It was delicious, exhausting, and frustrating. I loved the closeness. She held me in her arms, and melted into my body. It is a miraculous feeling to be the only source of relief for your sick child. But it also meant nothing got done: not the dishes, not the laundry, not the cleaning. I just sat around sweating under the heat of her little feverish body. After three days I got antsy to be free of the constant weight of her on my chest.
I'm also desperate for a little help around the house. I guess I never appreciated how much my husband helped around the house last year, but he's checked out of housework for now. Law school studies and events are his morning, noon, and night, and it's all fallen squarely on my shoulders. In my wildest imaginations I never pictured the day when I'd be cooking and cleaning and caring for a family of 5.
I was a kick-ass sabre fencer once.
And a smarty-pants grad student.
And a college lecturer.
I need a break. I desperately need to get out of this apartment, away from my children, and away from my dishes, laundry, and computer, if only for a few hours. I need to strap on some fencing shoes and beat the living daylights out of some unsuspecting man. I need to flex my atrophying muscles, and squeeze my dishsoaked hands around a worn rubber grip, snapping my fingers and wrist, feeling the steel blade cutting through the air and striking the soft cotton of my opponent's jacket with a THWACK. I need to feel my muscles burn and stretch and contract against years of neglect. I need to feel the sweat roll down my spine, pooling in the small of my back. I need to feel the rush of adrenaline as I retreat against the quick movements and metallic flashes of my opponent's blade. I need to smell the acrid scent of sweat and mildew and rust. I need to scream from deep within, out of joy, victory, relief, not anger and frustration.
But right now, my family needs me more.
What was I thinking?!
The life of a stay-at-home mom is no picnic, and I apologize to all of you ladies whom I ever looked upon with envy or disdain. Even with the support of my Skokie Girls, I desperately crave adult companionship - without an 18 month old on my hip. One of the hardest things about this whole experience has been my lack of a social life. My husband studies late into the nights, so after I put the kids down, I'm on my own. I usually fold laundry, wash dishes, toodle around on the internet, or go to sleep. My husband and I haven't had a date since my mom came to town in August. I've been trying desperately all week to find a babysitter, but the teenagers are busy this time of year. I'm 0 for 5 so far.
I love my children. I adore their smiles, laughs, songs, and thousands of questions while I'm driving, preparing supper, checking my email, and going to the bathroom. They need constant attention; and the more I need to be inside my head, the more they need to be in there with me. By the time I've put them to bed, I'm too tired to think.
My baby was sick this week. She had a gooey nose and a low fever for a few days. She spent the week glued with sweat to my shoulder. She didn't want to eat or play - she just wanted mommy, mommy, mommy. It was delicious, exhausting, and frustrating. I loved the closeness. She held me in her arms, and melted into my body. It is a miraculous feeling to be the only source of relief for your sick child. But it also meant nothing got done: not the dishes, not the laundry, not the cleaning. I just sat around sweating under the heat of her little feverish body. After three days I got antsy to be free of the constant weight of her on my chest.
I'm also desperate for a little help around the house. I guess I never appreciated how much my husband helped around the house last year, but he's checked out of housework for now. Law school studies and events are his morning, noon, and night, and it's all fallen squarely on my shoulders. In my wildest imaginations I never pictured the day when I'd be cooking and cleaning and caring for a family of 5.
I was a kick-ass sabre fencer once.
And a smarty-pants grad student.
And a college lecturer.
I need a break. I desperately need to get out of this apartment, away from my children, and away from my dishes, laundry, and computer, if only for a few hours. I need to strap on some fencing shoes and beat the living daylights out of some unsuspecting man. I need to flex my atrophying muscles, and squeeze my dishsoaked hands around a worn rubber grip, snapping my fingers and wrist, feeling the steel blade cutting through the air and striking the soft cotton of my opponent's jacket with a THWACK. I need to feel my muscles burn and stretch and contract against years of neglect. I need to feel the sweat roll down my spine, pooling in the small of my back. I need to feel the rush of adrenaline as I retreat against the quick movements and metallic flashes of my opponent's blade. I need to smell the acrid scent of sweat and mildew and rust. I need to scream from deep within, out of joy, victory, relief, not anger and frustration.
But right now, my family needs me more.
posted by law school widow at 7:24 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home