Did you know there are roughly 365 days in a year? Once every four years, that number jumps to a whole 366. Ish.
Given the number of options there, you’d think I could have spread out the births of my children.
Instead, our birthdays are all in March and April, with one aberration conveniently very close to Christmas. Add Tax Day and our wedding anniversary to the mix, and March and April are pretty much like a second Christmas season.
It’s all because of me. When I was younger I did not expect to get married. By default, I didn’t expect to have children. However; I vowed that, if I had children, I would never have their birthdays next to each other. This resolution came from the laments of peers and cousins who had to share special days. I would be a more fair mother than theirs; I would save the sanctity of days of birth.
Then I married someone in the same month we were born.
Then our first son came a little earlier than his due date and a little close to our births and anniversary.
The final straw was when my second son came nine weeks early. I figuratively threw up my hands and decided, so long as they all came into the world healthy, I would take it.
….which is why, when I was pregnant with our third, I spent all day of my birthday willing him to stay inside at least till our scheduled C-Section within the week. ‘Cause, by then, I had more realistic life goals.
S O C I A L . C U T
Well, it’s not like we need more kids for workin’ the farm these days…
-Care of Ramblin Mama.
I’m thinking, all right?!
-Seriously, though. This is a toughie. I’m a woman yet am often scratching my head to formulate a reasonable explanation for female actions -and that’s just for my own.
I think the problem is that there is no one-size-fits-all explanation glove to what the heck a woman just did or thought or said. Well, you know, besides HORMONES.
What we really need here is perspective. And, to make our findings appear more logical, I will provide them in list format.
This is The Biggie. I’ve never been a guy, so maybe menfolk have similar issues. Being a woman, though, I feel like the passenger of a crazed roller coaster pilot who has just decided to test whether the cars can function off the track …and, say, down a few waterfalls.
One day I am content (not happy, mind you, because laundry). Within an hour, I can be reduced to eating ice cream from the container and crying over baby videos on the internet all because some stranger with an obscure username wrote about the precious gift of motherhood.
Again, not to dismiss any guys with chronic illnesses or whatnot but this issue comes up A LOT around our house.
Monthly, I am referring to good old Aunt Flo. My husband even had the gall to ask me why I whine when it happens every month. Shouldn’t I be used to it by now?
Nope. The excruciating pain and bleeding hurts like hell every time.
On top of that, I’ve had recurring hemorrhoid sensitivities since Pregnancy #1, sensitive teeth since forever, and am usually experiencing bruises anywhere on my body that the kids can access.
Are you happy when you stay up late to finish a project (socks -yay!) and then you somehow woke to find you were stabbed in your abdomen (but, you should be used to the pain by now) but first were wakened every two to three hours for important client requests (glass of water and nightmare reassurances)?
Even before I was a mother, I often slept poorly just because of worrying about the next days’ tasks.
…Which leads to
Maybe your woman is the fun person in your relationship. If you have kids, though, odds are she’s the one worrying about whether little Tommy is wiping his nose on the other kids or if Anisha just fell down a rabbit hole.
I seem to be the only one who sits up in shock at the early-morning sounds of the garbageman, to know where the extra toilet paper is stored, and to realize that empty boxes of cereal cannot walk to the recycling bin on their own.
I think I’m screwy when my whole day feels ruined over a bad haircut, but it does. Give me a fresh, flattering outfit and a great hair and makeup day, and I’m all smiles.
Just imagine how I’d feel with a new outfit every day!
Now that we’ve got our highly-logical list, what can we do with our knowledge? Hug more? Sympathize a heck of a lot more? Allow that shopping trip, but ensure there’s a credit limit?
At the very least, I’d suggest chocolate, but that’s probably the hormones talking.
Funny thing about motherhood is that you don’t really have to do much to join.
Compared to other job trainings I’ve been to, the requirements are a cinch. Basically, you have to have a uterus, about 15 minutes of free time, and someone willing and male to help with something you learned about in fifth grade.
That, or you can pay for the result of borrowing those qualities from someone else.
I’m lucky; or, as people would hashtag, am #blessed. I found a totally awesome guy at a young age, married at a young age, and have never had difficulty growing humans. The problem is simply that I’m a whiner.
One day, I returned to an old topic of thought: Why do I resent being a stay-at-home mother?
I was, of course, laying around in pajamas while my husband was working hard at his job. I haven’t worked outside the home since I first was pregnant. We live in a house. We have cars, food, health insurance, and mostly matching socks.
WHAT WAS MY PROBLEM?
That very question is the fire behind this blog. It’s the final sock down the toilet that got me to get off the couch and started writing. I hope, through the great deliberation of blog posts, to uncover The Answer.
I hope you enjoy the process, and that you contribute. I love other people’s input and advice.
After all, I can’t do everything around here.