I don't quite know how to begin this whole blog thing other than simply telling you of my "Mamawareness."
First off, I'm feeling pretty good as I am now in the habit of wearing clothes other than pajamas because Juno is now in school. This, in itself, is quite a daring feat. For one, I run the risk of getting food, vomit, snot, or other various bodily fluids on them, and them then either getting put into the laundry to be washed and further worn out, or worse yet, stained. I say, "worse yet" because we all know I'm stuck wearing it, stained as it may be. Why? Because I cannot bring myself to buy clothes. I am convinced
I will
eventually lose that last ten to fifteen pounds of wiggly jiggly that I gained first with Juno and
enhanced with Rowan. It would just be pointless to buy clothes that
actually fit me when I can just SQUEEZE into the clothes I already have and, let's face it, look awful in, but are free! For another, I cannot buy clothes for all the aforementioned reasons! What would be the point when the kids are still in a stage where I am essentially seen as a walking tissue?
Anyhow, back to the point! As I am trudging up our hill after picking up Juno from school, still feeling pretty good albeit sweaty from pushing uphill a stroller with a 25 pound toddler with a 12 pound baby strapped to my chest, I hear a man behind me whistling cat calls and shouting out "Oye!" progressively louder. At first it began quite lightly, nothing too pushy. But as he gained, it became more aggressive. At this point I begin to think, "Look putz, I am too much work for you! I'm not sexy. My boobs are currently for food, not fun. I've got more wiggles than Australia. I'm far too full of bad jokes. I've got sky high debt and not much to show for it, a temper that would make R. Lee Ermey blush, and two people who depend on me. I haven't got time for your caterwauling!" Yet, I ignore it. But he just keeps on. And on. And ON. Just about the whole way from school to the top of the hill.
Then, halfway up the second part of the hill I just lose all energy. Man, I was happy, light, and felt ridiculously accomplished because I did laundry (and put it on the line), the dishes, cleaned the shower (FINALLY!!!), and went to the store and only bought vegetables! I was on a roll! Then this guy came in and deflated my high! Who gave him the right?! So, I turn around to tell him off, and as my left foot turns sideways his dog runs past me. He was calling after his dog. He. Was calling. After his DOG! Not me!
It then hits me, I am
so not what I used to be. This is not what I expected to be! A mom? Eventually, hell yes! But a "Mawm?" A woman who is such a mom who in lieu of an "o" she gets an "Aw?" I ask myself again, "Who gave him the right to make me feel 'less than'?" Well, turns out... I did! I could have blocked him out! I do it (or try to) with a toddler who is throwing a tantrum about nonsense, why couldn't I do it for this guy? It wasn't so much that I couldn't, but wouldn't. I wanted to be wanted. I hate that. When did I,
I, find it acceptable to be only valued by the sexual attention I receive? How did I become that? I try to find someone to blame- men, society, cultures, etc. but
truly the only one at fault is me for believing it. For believing I am not much more than one end or the other of the "acceptable female" spectrum we're presented with- a mom or a sex pot.
Turns out, this is not a blog post about resolution. I have no answer to finding a balance between being one or the other. Wouldn't it be nice if I did? And you believed it so much you were able to overcome what is being pounded into your head by yourself and what you think society needs you to be? Sorry, I have no answers.
What I do have is a continuation of my walk...
At the top of the hill (the actual top, not a metaphorical one, though it does kind of fit), an older man stops in front of Juno, says "Hola," and asks her for a cookie in Spanish. She looks at me not understanding, and I tell her, "He's asking if he can have one of your cookies." As I explain, I see she has just started on the last of the three I gave her. That morning she woke up at 6, went back to bed at 7, and had to get up at 8:30 for school at 9:30. Needless to say, it was a rough sleep and a rough morning for her. She hardly ate before she had to leave for school. By the time I picked her up she was famished. First thing she said was, "Hi, Mommy. I'm happy to see you. I'm hungry!" So now, five minutes later, still hungry, some stranger asks her for a cookie, HER COOKIE. Without hesitation she extends it out to him. He laughs and says, "Thank you!" but doesn't (thank goodness) take the cookie. She says, "Agur!" and we continue on.
My dark mood has faded in an instant, replaced with pride and awe in this person I get to be privy to growing up. Not only is she cute, but she's a good kid. No, she's a good person! She doesn't just behave, but she legitimately cares for others. How fucking lucky am I to be a part of her!? I suppose that's the only resolution I've got. I am clearly no longer the sex pot I was, but I'm not too far off the "mom only" end of the spectrum that
I am lost. I am FAR from happy with how I look, or with my temper, or what I have going for myself outside of my kids, but I've still got her and she has me.
Anyway, I am going to finish the jumbled rant/rave before I get too sentimental.
FYI: You know you've reached a macabre point in parenthood when the "wet spot" on the bed no longer holds the same weight. It now means, "where the laundry has sat too long before getting put on the line because your baby is crying from teething pain and wants to be held, and your toddler is crying because the only logical reason why the baby could be crying is because you must have broken him."
