Full-time Mommy

There are a few things that are a little odd about being a full-time mommy.

For example, I have run out of things to talk about with people. There's something about spending about twelve hours per day with a toddler, and the rest of your awake-time binge-watching Netflix because you're too fucking tired to do anything else. And also 'cause it's fun. So I could give people detailled summaries of 'The Cow Who Climbed a Tree' and 'The Ridiculous Seven', but no one seems to find that particularly interesting.

Then, I find being a full-time mommy very, very stressful, even though I don't really have that much to do. Other mom's I've met seem to be very busy all the time: Laundry, bringing kid #1 to kindergarten, then kid #2 to playgroup, cooking three course meals, taking part in theatre plays, singing in bands, doing crafts with the kids, seasonal decorations, baby song group, shopping, cleaning, volunteering, meaningful child activities, playground visits, playdates, birthday parties, reading up on parenting strategies, posting photos on Facebook, ... My days are a little simpler: Try to do fun things with bunnybear, "cook" simple food-things (i.e. chicken nuggets and oven-baked fries), and do laundry every other day or so. My Significant Other takes a half a day off during the week to kidnap bunnybear so I can clean our two-bedroom flat in peace. That's about it.

So why am I stressed? I worry. I worry that bunnybear's not eating enough vegetables. I worry about having to eventually start potty-training. (Is it really so bad if they still wear diapers in kindergarten?) I worry about whether he's lonely. I worry that he doesn't spend enough time with other kids. I worry that he doesn't speak any German yet. (We live in Switzerland, but speak English with him at home.) I worry that I will never be able to take him to the dentist, because he already freaks out when I cut his hair. Or wash his hair. Or cut his toenails. Or vacuum. Or won't let him close a lid. Any lid. He is the lid-closer. All lids in the known universe belong to him and he has the supreme right, as Lid-Closer, to close all lids. And also open them.

Oh, playdates. Fuck. I am the mother of all introverts. Well, not literally. I did not give birth to myself. I think. Not that I remember my birth. Anyhoo. I find people weird and complicated and vaguely frightening. There seem to be an infinite number of ways to offend people. This can happen even when you think you are being very friendly and polite. You won't realize it while it's happening, but later, when they stop inviting you to things and give you stiff smiles in the supermarket.

I have really made a (for me) big effort to be more extraverted and connect with other moms: I joined a club, re-joined Facebook, invited quite a lot of people over, ... But it's a huge effort (again, for me) to get just one playdate per month.

Sorry kiddo. I hope building train tracks and tunnels with your mommy is fun, too.

I wonder if it's my Hulk tank top that's scaring people off. Or maybe it's my two tiny ponytails. Or that I can't seem to put two words together. Or sometimes forget to shower.

Maybe I'll get lucky and find another mommy someday who has a little kid who's exactly my son's age, who also loves The IT Crowd and Blackadder and would adore listening to me give them a lecture on MBTI. Although I'm still not certain about my own MBTI type. But I do know a great deal about it. I need a new hobby.

Sometimes I miss not having any measurable accomplishments. As a web designer, whenever I did a thingy, I would fetch my co-worker so he could come stare at the wondersome thingy I'd just created, and so he could listen to me explain the clever little coding-thingy that I'd just done. After that he was supposed to tell me that it was very cool indeed. Maybe I should try that now, too. After bunnybear and I had a good day, I could drag my hubby over to stare at our son, point at bunnybear and say, 'Look at that happy boy! I did that! You can applaud now!'

That probably wouldn't work though because I'd screw up the perfect day by forgetting to let him close a lid.