I’ve received such excellent advice from readers about being a housewife. I have such intelligent, creative and experienced readers (remind me to include “shameless pandering” on my list of categories for blog posts).
Everyone suggests a schedule. For example, Monday is diaper washing day, Tuesday is bathroom scrubbing day, Wednesday is Baileys in your coffee while watching DVRed “Parenthood” day, and so on. Up until yesterday, I hadn’t had the guts to take Pringles to the grocery store because she hates being in her car seat. But, I realize that grocery shopping has to be part of my housewifery. Viva used to just ride on the cart (or trolley as they call it in the UK) in her car seat, look around and be contented as a clam. Are clams content? I have no idea. Let’s just say she was happy and I like alliteration.
I remember when she got to be around 6 months, people would always stop and say “Hi” to her and try to get a smile out of her. She always fixed them with her cool stare as if to say, “I don’t KNOW you, lady (or sir). Be gone with you.” She was never a friendly, smiley baby. I enjoy waiting and wondering to see if Pringles will be the same or different. Viva is friendly now. When people at the store say hi to her, she says, “My name is Viva. That’s my mom.”
I woke up in so much pain this morning. Why doesn’t anyone warn you how much pain is involved in motherhood? At least, it is for me. I think I have that pubic symphysis dysfunction I’ve read about. I mentioned it to my doctor, and she gave me that “Oh, God, you’ve been to Dr. Google again…” look she gave me when I asked her about delayed cord clamping in the delivery room (she called it nonsense and refused to do it). But being the mother of two kids means you get your ass out of bed and you do what needs to be done.
Pringles was in a good mood this morning which is such a relief. Viva had a leaking diaper when she got up at 7, so I had to deal with that immediately. My nerves get raw when Pringles cries for me while I’m taking care of Viva, and it drains my stash of patience for Viva’s inevitable toddler doddle.
“It’s time to brush our teeth.”
“I just have to do this first.” By “this,” she means play with a new toy Odie bought her.
“Come on, sweetie. Teeth brushing time.”
“I’m almost finished.” Continues playing with toys. I am calm and patient. I do not raise my voice. I do not threaten. Instead, I remember what I have read about toddlers not being on adult timetables and that we need to allow for them to doddle.
When Pringles is crying, though, it takes all of my will not to scream, “YOU DO NOT NEED TO PLAY WITH YOUR ROCKET SHIP BEFORE YOU BRUSH YOUR TEETH FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY.” I don’t do it. I keep it together. Barely.
Because really, we don’t have a hard deadline. I want to get her to school as close to 8:00 as possible so she gets some outdoor playtime, which ends at 9. That’s a preference, not a necessity. In the back of my mind, however, is the reality that come February, I will have to get Viva and Pringles to day care on time, leaving the house by 7:15, or be late for work. And you cannot be late for work when you are a teacher. Bells ring and shit. My students will tell me I’m “tardy.” It’s all very embarrassing.