A lot of things have changed for me since I became a mom. Almost all the things, really, when you get right down to it. Routines, priorities, even the definitions of words. Take “luxury” for example. This used to conjure images of fancy hotel rooms overlooking Central Park. Or a day at the spa. Or soft, white sheets. And those things still fit the bill, I suppose. But, since becoming a mom, the bar is quite a bit lower. Take these three things, for example:
3. Eating whatever I want
These days, if my plate isn’t an exact replica of my son’s I’m in for it. “What Mommy eating? Want to look at it. What to touch it. Want to eat it.” Which is fine, I guess, if it’s a carrot stick, or an apple slice, or a piece of cheese. But it never is. It’s always a cookie, or a piece of chocolate, or a Dorito. Which now must be consumed while leaning over the sink pretending to do the dishes or discretely behind the cabinet door.
Not to mention the fact that, even if it is a carrot stick or an apple or something, I only put enough on my plate for me. Because he has the Exact. Same. Thing. On his plate. But he won’t eat that. It has to be my food. And now it’s all covered with saliva from his fingers. Which probably would have put me off a couple years ago. But hey, a girl’s got to eat.
2. Using my computer
The minute I flip the lid of my laptop open, tiny hands (attached to my son) appear out of nowhere, smacking the heck out of my keyboard. It took me a while to figure out that he was just copying what he saw me doing (I guess that’s what typing looks like to someone who’s not quite two).
In my defense, there’s not a whole lot of thinking time when you’re standing on the couch holding your computer over your head and trying to type at the same time because this is the only place he can’t reach it. And, even if I could think, it’s hard to hear my own thoughts over the inarticulate whining which has commenced as a result of not being allowed to beat the living daylights out of a bunch of letters and numbers.
If, by some miracle, I’m able to convince him to just look and not touch, he is still standing there next to me, peering over my shoulder and asking incessantly to watch Mary Poppins. Or recently (after a failed attempt to explain what I was doing), yelling “just words!” over and over again as I type. I’m pretty sure I haven’t sent a coherent email in months.
1. Going to the bathroom in private
It doesn’t matter how quietly I sneak away, or how focused on his toys he seems. The minute I sit down on the toilet my son comes hurtling into the bathroom yelling, “Mommy peeing!!” at the top of his lungs, worried he missed something.
Then we must discuss exactly what is happening and whether or not the pee is currently still in my body, or coming out as we speak, or all in the toilet. Then we must examine the contents of the toilet and remark (every single time) that pee is yellow. Only then am I allowed to actually flush the toilet, while he looks on, waving and saying “bye-bye pee” in a forlorn little voice.
This gives me a moment to stand quietly and reminisce about the days when peeing was a solitary venture and no one spoke directly to my bodily waste. Sometimes, when he’s napping, I go to the bathroom even if I don’t have to. Just for the luxury of closing the door.
So, if you were planning on getting me a day at the spa for Christmas, don’t bother. I’ll settle for a bathroom pass and a bag of chips.