My Day

Ay yi yi. No, seriously. AY YI YI! Somebody, please, hand me a glass of wine. Oh, wait, somebody did. Good job self, you need deserve that. Forgive me if this post seems like the wine soaked, senseless ramblings of a stay-at-home mom. Forgive me, because that is exactly what it is.

Anyway… Did you know I have THREE babies? Yeah, me neither. I only remember the pregnancy and birth of one. And yet, somehow, today, I have THREE. Baby number one is easy enough. She will wait patiently for her meals, and she only needs two a day, and she doesn’t even mind eating the same thing at every meal. She doesn’t need regular bathing in the summer, since she takes a daily dip in the pool. She’s easy. She whines a fuck ton lot, needs a lot of exercise, and has more energy than the rest of the family combined. And then, there’s baby number two. She is still relatively easy. All she needs is a good boob (full of milk), some fun toys, and her naps on time, and she is happy. Sure, she needs me to wash a lot of clothes, requires me to pick her nose, and never, ever cleans up her own messes, but overall, her demands are easily met. Oh, but baby number three. Baby number three is the reason I need wine tonight. Usually, during the week, baby number three requires little help. He is fairly self-sufficient, and if I make sure he is fed, his lunches packed, and his favorite shows are on, then he is a happy camper.

Today, baby number three is home sick, I’m terrified that baby number two is coming down with something, and baby number one has a hurt leg (but still a whole ton of energy- you’d think she could at least share THAT with me, she doesn’t need it). Oh, baby number three, you are going to be the death of me.

The baby, although sick, still needs three square, hot meals a day. He needs water every hour. He needs his eggplant parm with heirloom tomatoes, extra cheese, and red pepper flakes. He needs extra tortillas with his Chinese noodle salad. He can’t move from the couch. He needed the Lorax movie, just when I got my daughter down for a nap. He needed his laundry done, as soon as I had gotten the baby to bed for the night.

And yet… I cannot resist that sad face. I can’t say “no” to his pleas for Mucinex, popsicles, and extra hot sauce. Why? Because he is the man I married. He is the man I love. And he is the father of my child(ren). Because I was the one the brought this terrible sickness back from my trip to California. And, because, deep down, I love it. I like being the caretaker. I like taking care of my little family. He takes care of us by providing for us, and I take care of us by being there, by meeting the needs of my family members, and by being there to love them each and every day. Sure, I may laugh, and ask my mother-in-law where she got my husband. I may roll my eyes when he asks for yet ANOTHER glass of ice water. In the end, though, I like it. It is a life I have chosen for now. It is what I feel is the most beneficial for my family, and, although many will say I am taking an old-fashioned style of family life, and that I am erasing all the work that my ancestors did, I disagree. I am doing what I love. I have the choice to take care of my family (for now), and I am sick of defending it.

So, I am going to sit here and watch some football with my husband. I am going to laugh when he jokingly (I think) asks for beer instead of water and Mucinex. I will laugh when the dog starts whining for no good reason. I will hope that tomorrow I will only have one baby, and that my dear husband will no longer be sick. It is, after all, good to have a partner  in this whole parenting thing.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s