Jealous Confessions

I'm not a commuting mommy. Unless, of course, you count the 1-2 hours a week I teach yoga (which I don't). I am mostly a stay at home mom, and most days I don't think I'm very good at it. This is my confession: many days I am jealous of working moms. I know it's a grass is greener situation, but let me continue. Today as my darling husband was about to leave for work, I asked if he could watch the boy for 2 minutes so I could use the bathroom. I got a martyred, "GO." "Forget it, I'll take him." I replied. "No it's fine." he said. It clearly wasn't, but if he's not going to be honest, that's his problem, not mine. As I was sitting in the bathroom for two minutes I thought, "He doesn't have a clue."

I was daydreaming just then of using the bathroom all day without anyone unrolling all the toilet paper, putting little hands in the toilet, grabbing my hairbrush and hiding it where I'll never find it, or pinching my leg because I'm taking too long and he wants to go play. I think if I worked outside the house, I might never come out of the bathroom. I'd bring my book in there, and sit. That's it. Just sit. I know I wouldn't get much actual work done. But it's my current fantasy. I also dream of eating a meal without having to share it, pick up half of it off the floor, or sing songs to my son to keep him in the high chair while I try to finish eating.

Most days, I take it hour by hour, simply getting through the day. Even though my pediatrician has warned me against t.v. for eyes and brains under 3, I sing "Alleluia" when Seasame St. comes on at 10. I love Wednesdays because my son is entertained watching the garbage trucks go by, thereby allowing me some extra time on the computer. I check my e-mail obsessively, as though I'm waiting for urgent news. I belong to countless yahoo groups, whereas before mommyhood, I didn't really know what a yahoo group was. I've gotten very good at playing megablocks with Jonah while I read a book. And I've spent enough time with the plastic dog xyliaphone to learn both twinkle twinkle little star and the ABC song. (In case you never realized it, they're the same song -- but still it's impressive, right?)

I often wonder why I don't just get a job. Let someone else deal with the daily nap battle, the peas all over the floor, the neck breaking toys everywhere, and the boredom. Yes, the boredom. That's another confession, sometimes I'm so bored, I wonder how hard it is to be a sex phone worker. But then, my son takes a break from his blocks to come over and give me a hug and a wet, slobbery kiss. I watch him pretend to talk on the phone -- and he talks with his hands just like mommy. I hear him belly laugh when I make a silly sound. He says a new word for the first time -- and I'm here to know it. I'm here. It's as simple as that.

I have a list of complaints. I always do. But I am so grateful that my list of blessings is so much longer. Maybe the grass is greener, but I never felt the need for a perfectly manicured lawn anyway.