I Used to Be (Warning - creative pity party coming)

I used to be a mom who loved being a mom. I loved cooking real baby food. I loved watching my kid grow. I loved the (albeit sometimes difficult) experience of having the rough edges worn off of me by the slowness of my life. I loved not feeling frazzled. I loved getting to do some volunteer work. I loved never having to travel. I loved watching the baby weight melt off of me like so much sweet cream butter running right out of my perky boobs into my infant's happy and content mouth.

Oh how I used to pontificate about the wonders and glories of stay at home momhood. Why have children if you just pay someone else (poorly) to raise them? I'd say. Why sign up to be stressed at work only to come home and still have to clean the house? I'd say. I loved parenting. I loved being with my kid. I enjoyed, surprisingly, taking care of my home.

Then.

Then I got pregnant again. And all of that baby weight came right back and hmmm...its still here. Yup. I weighed in heavier at my yearly appointment this year for the first time ever. Granted it was 1 pound heavier. But a year ago I had a 6 week old baby!!!

Then we moved and I lost my house cleaner and every dirty toilet, dish, towel, sheet, shirt, floor, window, wall got cleaned by me. Oh and I paid every bill. And budgeted every dollar. And made every appointment. And took care of the cars.

Then I had a second kid who still doesn't sleep and who has been biting my nipples for months and who sucks my brains out rather than sucking the extra few pounds around my middle.

Then. Literally when I was counting down the days until kid number 2 started not napping in the morning and we'd have some freedom we welcomed leukemia into our lives.

So here is an open letter to the self who never thought this self would exist:

Dear skinny, happy self:

I'm happy for you. I really am. I really, really am. I hope you're enjoying yourself. Enjoy those size 6 jeans. Enjoy nap time. Enjoy your sanity and your ability to finish sentences.

Quit having opinions about moms who work. There is probably a good reason they do. Some necessity of some sort has them working. Quit wondering why moms aren't more organized, or don't insist on more free time. There is some reason those things don't exist in their lives.

I'm tempted to tell you to quit being so sure of yourself that's just wrong tho. Just give yourself a break someday when you haven't showered in days and can feel the fuzz growing on your teeth and fantasize about a high powered 80 hour-a-week job at Target Corp where other people clean up your messes and actually do what you say. Give yourself a break.

Signed, me