I’ve been a mom for almost five years. In that time given birth to four beautiful children, three girls and a boy (though not in that order). In five years I’ve changed approximately 18, 000 diapers; read “Goodnight Moon” over 5400 times; wiped 14.2 gallons of spitup and/or vomit from my clothes and the floor; and recieved 924, 851 unsolicited wet kisses. For me, hugs are as abundant as stuck-out tongues and I’ve yet to give a bath in which I don’t also get soaked.
It’s a sticky job, but one I wouldn’t change. Except for the fact that I have no time to do much else, let alone work on this blog.
Right now I’m enjoying the peace while the oldest two are at preschool and the younger two have settled down for their afternoon naps. I could be folding laundry, cleaning up the morning mess, cleaning the basement, but it’s just too darn nice to have an hour to do nothing at all.
So I blog.
I could call my sister, who has been on the receiving end of my audio blog for many years now, but she has a paying job that requires her attention at least some of the time. Same for my husband, who is patient to a point when I call him up during the day for no reason:
“HI honey, what are you doing?”
“Working. How are things there?”
“Oh, fine. Cooper is sitting on Ellie, Mitzi is snacking on her fingernails while she tries to glue together some of Barbie’s shoes, and Joanna is hoping no one steps on her. The usual.”
“Okay. Is there something you need? I’m really in the middle of something here.”
“No, just looking for an adult voice.”
“Gotcha. Okay, I’ll call you later!”
Being a stay-at-home mom can be an isolating life, though it doesn’t have to be, certainly not all of the time. My oldest is not quite five; the youngest is 6 months. Some days it’s hard to leave the house, let alone attend or arrange playdates. We go to the playground where I chat with other moms or grandmas. We socialize wherever we go, but I miss the prospect of having a converstaion that doesn’t revolve around “Go, Diego, Go” or the difference between conifers and deciduous trees.
I know some day I’ll miss this time of silliness and few responsibilities, when we can do nothing except arrange stickers on paper or see how many goldfish crackers we can throw into a soup pot from across the room. Some day my teenagers will slouch off to school with barely a goodbye; they’ll wave me off in favor of their friends; they’ll forget to call for days from college. I’ll play remember when with Ray, and we’ll both wonder why it went so quickly. So now I try to enjoy the innocence and laughter and curiosity and energy these four kids have, letting it rub off on me as much as I can.
Most days, I have no time to blog. Most days I’m having too much fun.