My First Mother’s Day

Today is my first [official] Mother’s Day. This time last year I was so pregnant that I was visible from space, but I didn’t quite count that as really being a mom. After all, I hadn’t done any specific mothering at that point. Just a scary amount of eating. So this year is my official First. I started celebrating early with a cozy little $3 cabernet from Trader Joe’s. Don’t hate.!! What moms really want !!

Here’s the thing: 9+ months into this gig, I still don’t feel like a mom. I feel like a caretaker.  I’ve got the stained clothes and the dead-looking eyes to prove it- hell, I don’t even get carded anymore unless it’s a pity carding-  but I don’t feel like a parent. I just feel…overwhelmed by what I’m supposed to be doing here.

There’s a soapbox kicked somewhere in the corner that I could use to talk about how society should help mothers more (How about instead of lip-service one day a year, you crusty old assholes get some subsidized day care up in this bitch? Just saying.), or how hard it all is and how much it changes you (blahblahblah, see the five million other Mommy blogs. It’s an industry), or how…..

…whatever.

I’m tired, I’m under-hygiened,  I’ve regressed socially to the level of a cat on a rumba, and I’d sell just about anything to be able to sleep past 5 am. For my first mother’s day, all I can think of is how much I want a break from mothering. And that’s the honest truth. I want a break from my life. I want to go to the bathroom by myself and take more than 2 minutes to get dressed. I want other things to talk about and I want going to the grocery store to not be a monu-fucking-mental event involving an hour of preplanning/prepacking.

you know you're a mom when 2Think ill of me if you want- just thought I’d drag some of my reality out here into the light of day. I’m not always well adjusted to motherhood. So there. Some days, I’m just pasting on the smile cause I don’t want to scare the UPS guy. Some days, I still send him running to his truck, looking over his shoulder to make sure I’m not trying to set him on fire with my death-ray eyes.

I could go on, but it’s bedtime. Thank god.

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