“The hardest part of being a Mother is when they become adults and cut your heart to pieces.”
“Wait until they’re teenagers. Then you’ll have something to complain about.”
“Oh, please. Mothering isn’t hard until they get to the teens.”
-I Have it Worst
Dear I Have it Worst: I know I’m not a parent of a young adult yet. I know I don’t have to figure out hormones and girlfriends and how to handle broken curfews. I know my little people are way easier to control than the big people they will one day be. But have you ever tried to wrestle a plunger that just went swimming in poo from four 3-year-old hands, and as soon as you finally peel those 20 fingers from the stick and turn around to put the (still-dripping) plunger somewhere they can’t reach it, one of those four hands dips into the brown water to finish the job it wanted to do in the first place? Have you ever tried to stop an 8-year-old from digging out the old pacifiers from the trash can because he thinks they can be recycled into something new? Have you ever tried to convince a 5-year-old that horizontal stripes don’t really match vertical stripes?
I know, I know. The answer is probably “I’ve done things much harder than that.” I’m just trying to get you to practice this little amazing communication secret called “empathy,” which means “to remember how it felt when your 3-year-old drew all over his brand new organic cotton sheets with a permanent marker you didn’t know he had and you wanted to murder him.” I bet you thought it was dang hard, too.
(This isn’t a competition. Stop making it one.)
“A mother simply propagates a virus upon the earth. They all need to be destroyed.”
—Violently Yours
Dear Violently Yours: Let’s just use a little logic here. “A mother simply propagates a virus.” For anything to propagate a virus upon the earth, that means it must have been a virus, too. I’ve been called a lot of things, but this one is new. A virus? That sounds intriguing. Like a mum flu or a mothebola virus. I sure wish that’s what I were, because there are a lot of women in my life who would really like to have a baby. If I could infect them, you bet I would.
I know you meant your comment to be something far worse but I feel like I have to thank you for the compliment. I’ll remind you that a virus is so small it can only be seen with a microscope. Now. I’ve had six kids, including twins. There is no part of my body small enough to only be detected by a microscope. Maybe my brain. I can’t seem to remember anything anymore. So I appreciate the vote of confidence in my ability to shrink back to regular (or nearly nonexistent) size after six children, but I assure you, we’re not anywhere close.
Try again.
“I’ve met some really shitty mothers.”
-What’s Your Point
Dear What’s Your Point: Welp, I’m not one of them. I actually rock at being a mother. The only thing I have in common with your comment is what I do most mornings at about 9 a.m., give or take a few.
“Sounds like whining to me and she has a husband to boot. I am a single mom and I don’t feel this way. Thank God. There are some days when I want my son to leave me alone for 5 min but it’s not hard. Suck it up butter cup!”
“SHUT THE HELL UP! You are a mother now grow up. She seems like a spoiled little brat who wants her single life with kids back again. Can’t go back so look forward and be positive!”
-Parenting is Super Easy
Dear Parenting is Super Easy: I like this world you live in. How did you get there? May I please come, too? Because I live in a world where parenting is stinking hard, and it’s not because I’m not a good mom or because I never should have had kids or because I want my single life back. It’s just that I now live in a world where one of my kids will bust into my room in the middle of the night to tell me he feels like he needs to puke two seconds before he actually does, all over my comfy comforter that requires a bath in the tub and a stint out on the back porch to get clean. Now I have six boys who like to climb the walls like Spider-Man and put gigantic spitballs on the ceiling and leave LEGOs all over the floor so the baby is constantly in danger of choking on one of them. That doesn’t mean I’d trade my life today for my no-kids one. IT JUST MEANS THAT IT’S HARD. It just means it’s not perfect. It just means there are days I feel like tapping out, for just a second or a minute or a whole afternoon.
Scratch that. I’m totally lying. The real reason it feels hard is because all I really want to do is lie on the couch and read the latest George R.R. Martin novel and sip on a little red wine so it dulls my senses and I don’t have to hear the kids losing their minds about wanting dinner and why don’t they ever have food and who’s going to pour them milk. Why do kids have to be so dang hard?
“Are they all yours? My God.”
-Tactless
Dear Tactless: What’s a number you’d be comfortable with? One? Two? Maybe three? Well, then, that’s how many are mine. The rest are strays who just thought we looked like better parents than the ones they had. And hey. What’s a few more when you already have three?
What? They all look like me? Huh. That’s weird. I guess I get around.
“You have enough for a basketball team. With a sub!”
-Sports Analogies Are the Best
Dear Sports Analogies Are the Best: You smart thing. How did you guess? That’s exactly what we were trying to do. We got married and, 18 months later, looked at each other and said, “WE SHOULD START A TOALSON BASKETBALL TEAM, because that would be really cool!” And now here we are. It’s a really good thing we went for that sub, because a few of them can’t dribble a ball without breaking their nose. I think we probably need a couple more, just to be safe.
“Are you done yet?”
-Just Call Me Nosy
Dear Just Call Me Nosy: Nope. We’re not done until we beat the Duggars and get our own television show. Because that’s the whole point of having babies, isn’t it? Breaking the record for how many babies a body can produce in 25 years and snagging your own sitcom? I still have 10 or 15 good years of childbearing left, and you better believe we are going to use them.
“You were trying for a girl, weren’t you.”
-Big Mouth
Dear Big Mouth: No. I’ve wanted six boys since I was a little girl, and that’s exactly what happened. Lucky me.
Also, what’s wrong with boys? What’s wrong with wanting more boys?
“Stop using your choice to have six kids as an excuse to do nothing else.”
-Supermom
Dear Supermom: Gosh, I admire you. I’m sure you have a perfectly manicured yard and your homemade bread never caves in the middle and all your kids’ shoes match and are on the right feet every morning. And your kids probably never turn in a school paper late. And you never yell when the 3-year-old sneaks out of bed and hoards all the toothbrushes in the blue cup for God knows what reason, even though he’s been told and told and told not to wander and especially not to hoard toothbrushes because you’re tired of buying toothbrushes. And you throw the most spectacular birthday parties on the block. I wish I could be you. I really do.
But, alas, the only thing I do all day is lie on the couch and watch my hoodlums tear up my house around me so I have a reason to blame them for everything. I can’t clean house, because I have six kids. I can’t cook dinner, because I have six kids. I’ve been wearing the same workout pants for four days, because I have six kids.
The gulf between you and me is light years apart, so I give. You keep being your awesome super mom self, and I’ll keep being my despicable lazy mom self.
Thanks for commenting! If you have any personal issue with any of my answers, please email idontcare@babymakingfactory.com. And I’m sure I’ll see you around again soon!
