As stated in my last post, this past week has been a whirlwind of sh*tstorms. Suffice it to say that the past few days have probably have been my most trying as a mother of two. Maybe I’ll write about the events that transpired in a future post, but there is a chance that I may need to erase from my memory banks these occurrences and my resulting feelings and reactions from them — and leaving them written out on a public blog may not be the best way to go about accomplishing this goal.
I have recently re-read Tina Fey’s Bossypants because it is a quick and funny read that does not require much thinking. I laughed out loud as I read the below passage:
I learned how long a morning can be. If you’re at work at 5:30 A.M., five hours go by and it is 10:30 in the morning. (I didn’t experience that again until I had a newborn baby. It does make you feel like an asshat for all those college years when you slept until 12:45.)
My mother told me yesterday that my life will never be as comfortable as it was when I was in college. I disagree, because I hated school and I hate being dependent on others — even my own parents at that young age — for money. For me, it was better when we were DINKs (double income, no kids), because at least we could sleep in on weekends and our combined income which supported two people was more than what J’s single income now supports for four.
But having less (in time, money, and other luxuries) does make me so much more appreciative of the little things; I am so much more thankful for what I do have, as well as what I had. For instance, I can’t believe I used to b*tch about getting “only” 5 hours of sleep the night before. Or spending $700 for a wallet and not batting an eye when a $100 handbag seems like such a luxury now.
I am grateful that I was once able to live such a life, am at times wistful of the life we once led, but am now more aware of each little blessing in my life and can’t believe that I never noticed them before.
So yes, I do feel like an asshat. Thank you for pointing that out to me, Ms. Fey.
True love is being reduced to a blubbery mess of tears and snot after having just one goofy smile shot your way. The kind that says, “You may not be the perfect mom, but you are my mom and for that, you are perfect to me.”
The kind that out-trumps an entire week of injuries, blood, poop, and tears. (I’m not revealing which came from who. You’d be surprised. :-P)